


For want of Balance

by Lacertae



Series: Equilibrium [1]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Captivity, Consensual Sex, Dubious Consent, Dubious Ethics, Dubious Morality, Enemies to Lovers, Enthusiastic Consent, Fingering, M/M, Omnics, Post-Recall, Praise Kink, Resolved Sexual Tension, Robot Sex, Robots, Sensuality, Sexual Tension, Size Difference, Size Kink, Slow Burn, Wire Play, headcanons, long talks, transcendence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-01
Updated: 2017-08-05
Packaged: 2018-12-09 20:03:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 29,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11676114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lacertae/pseuds/Lacertae
Summary: *Doomfist/Zenyatta*For Akanday2017Doomfist takes an interest in Zenyatta, and when Akande wants something... Akande gets it.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> For Akanday2017, I bring you Doomyatta.
> 
> (slightly dub-con where the captivity is not consensual but the sex part, when it gets here, is)
> 
> This piece took me weeks to write. it's a grand total of over 24k words, and since I started writing it, it has grown to include a prequel scene and some follow-up ficlets, which I will write and then compile into a single collection for easier browsing.
> 
> (follow-up will deal with this 'relationship' and more. I hope you will look forwards to it)

**Chapter 01**

 

Akande Ogundimu, the new Doomfist, knew how to make an entrance.

The man was… tall, and imposing; his shoulders were wide and squared, and he demanded attention with his mere presence.

Zenyatta had been standing in the middle of the room, looking around himself, analysing his surroundings, when the door opened to let him in. The man’s eyes found him instantly, impenetrable stare and a small, pleased smirk on his lips.

“Hello again,” he greeted him, head tilted to the side. “I am rather sure we do not need to be introduced, as we have faced one another not too long ago.”

Zenyatta folded his arms in front of him, fingers intertwined together, and hummed softly. “Indeed. You are Doomfist.”

“Please, no need for titles between us. My name… is Akande, Tekhartha Zenyatta.”

It took Akande two steps to cross the distance between the door and where Zenyatta was standing, and he did not back down as the man advanced towards him, unwilling to show even a fraction of uneasiness to him.

Akande dwarfed him easily, but it was a different kind of imposing, so different from the intense focus Akande had shown during the few minutes they had faced one another in battle, mere hours earlier.

If not for the sniper that had intervened, disrupting Zenyatta’s focus, he might have lasted long enough for the rest of the OverWatch team to arrive to help… but unfortunately, luck had not been on his side. He had been captured, bound and dragged away to an unknown location, alone and powerless, where he’d been forced to wait for over an hour until Akande had arrived.

“With pleasantries expended, I would like to inquire about my presence here.”

Akande’s grin stretched a little. “You could say that I am… interested.”

He moved to the side, striding with purpose across the room, turning his head to look at him as Zenyatta followed him with his optical receptors, waiting.

“Tell me, monk,” the words were deceivingly plain, almost uncaring, “when did you connect with your God for the first time?”

Zenyatta was not fooled.

Akande moved around him like a predator with a prey already caught, and Zenyatta’s eyes never left him, wary of his motivations and presence both.

There was nothing Akande did that was without purpose, so his indifference was a mere mask, though Zenyatta still had no idea what he was hoping to accomplish by kidnapping him. There was no information on OverWatch Zenyatta would give, though he was sure he had nothing Akande did not already know.

Still, he was wary –he might be captive, but he was not willing to bow.

Taking some time to consider his answer, Zenyatta did not speak right away. He had never concealed his trials to anyone asking, but he knew that the mind behind those dark, intense eyes was sharp, and to have that kind of focus on him was unnerving. It felt like there was nothing else that mattered except of him, so anything he’d say would be dissected and analysed and used against him.

To what purpose would Akande ask about his past, though, he did not know.

“I had been studying for over a year under my master,” he finally answered, his tone even. He could recall that day easily, the feeling of the Iris flowing inside him for the first time. “I was not able to maintain that contact for long, _then_.”

It was not quite a threat, more like a warning, but Zenyatta knew Akande would understand.

“That is one truth, but it is not the truth I seek,” Akande murmured after a small pause.

He stopped behind Zenyatta, close enough that he could feel his presence looming above him. Zenyatta felt a heavy pressure against the back of his mind, thick and overwhelming, belonging to Akande’s aura. For a moment, he thought about cutting his contact with the Iris so that his senses would become blind to the swirling aura, but in the end he denied himself this respite. It might be small, but it was still an advantage against the man called Doomfist, and Zenyatta knew he needed all he could get.

“I have no other truth to give, then.”

Akande chuckled, the sound like a low bass hum, and Zenyatta stiffened as the aura around them swirled faster, growing thicker with satisfaction.

“Oh, and _that_ is a lie, little monk. You have many truths to give me, and I shall have them all as I demand.”

Akande moved again, sliding in front of him. Tall and imposing, he dwarfed Zenyatta even while standing –for Zenyatta had not floated ever since he’d been caught. It was just another attempt to show he would not be cowed, but it mattered none when Akande managed to be taller regardless, and twice as big.

There was not an inch of Akande that did not exist to demand attention, and though unwilling, even Zenyatta could admit he had the kind of presence that could sway any opposition.

The situation was not favourable.

He had no idea where he was being kept, and most of his sensors had been disabled since entering the building by a strong masking signal. His weapons had also been taken away, and though he could hold his own without them in a fight, they did offer him an edge and a suitable conduit for his omnic energy, so without them his combat abilities had been greatly reduced. Zenyatta tried not to think about it, because it would mean having to admit he was alone and powerless, and he would receive no help unless Athena’s abilities exceeded those of Talon.

With how calm Akande looked, Zenyatta had to admit he had little hope to be released anytime soon; he was at disadvantage, with an opponent who was unrelenting and mysterious. It would not do to rush through things, not yet.

He did not wish for his companions to find the mangled remains of his body, if they did come to rescue him.

Zenyatta tilted his head up, trying to appear more tranquil than he truly felt. There was such confidence in Akande’s gait, a man who had power and strength and knew how to use them, a man who was used to getting what he wanted without fail, and Zenyatta wondered, perturbed, if he had any hope to withstand this tide.

Then he banished that thought, and steadied himself.

“Gods do not allow anyone to reach out to them unless in a favourable position, and yours would not benefit to be found solely through meditation, monk.” Akande attracted his attention. “I ask again. When did it happen _first_?”

Zenyatta hesitated.

He understood now what Akande was asking.

“It happened once, I’m told. I was not fully aware, at the time,” he answered slowly. He could lie, but it would serve no purpose unless he understood what game they were playing. “My master told me that he could see a sparkle of the Iris in me, during our first meeting.”

There was a pleased tilt on Akande’s lips, and Zenyatta looked to the side, feigning disinterest.

“The conduit existed before, whether you knew you could use it,” he said in a low murmur. So satisfied. “You were chosen, and it was your active decision to pursue that connection further, until you succeeded.”

“Does this questioning serve any purpose?”

Akande hummed, crossing his arms behind his back, his muscles bulging out, and Zenyatta followed the movement despite himself. Yet another display of power, one that came far too easily to him.

It was disappointing that a man who had so much –luck, strength, presence, a brilliant mind, even his _looks_ , since Zenyatta was not _blind_ – could have walked down such a wrong path.

“Everything I do has purpose.” Akande leaned forwards and Zenyatta froze in place. “Your master. Tekhartha Mondatta.”

Hands clenched into fists at his sides, Zenyatta focused on the rhythmic pulsation of his core to keep calm, the name of his brother sounding like poison on Akande’s lips. His auricular receptors buzzed, distracting him. “Yes.”

“What were you doing, then?”

Zenyatta’s forehead array powered down to avoid betraying the reaction he knew would be too obvious.

Akande was still too close to his face, fully focused, smirking, and Zenyatta felt the pressure of his aura increase, choking his senses, making him feel almost faint with how thick it was.

“I had been assaulted and was seeking to protect him from a similar fate, but I powered down before I could do anything.”

Again, Akande’s lips twitched into a satisfied grin. “Defeat made you stronger.”

Catching himself before he could answer, Zenyatta studiously kept his optical receptors averted from Akande’s face.

“You appear weak, monk. Deceivingly so. Your body is made of metal, sturdy and resistant, but looks frail. You show your circuits to parade your fragility, yet your body is fast, and strong.”

One big, calloused hand pressed down on his shoulder, and Zenyatta was startled out of his stillness by the unexpected touch.

“You were able to face me and hold your own, monk. Our fight was brief, but enjoyable.”

“I will stay strong when it is needed.”

The hand moved up from his shoulder to the pistons surrounding his neck. It was a careful, soft touch –surprising for such big hands– and Zenyatta did his best to ignore it, his servos working overtime to keep his emotions at bay.

He was confused, and offset, and did not understand the gentleness of the contact, but did not dare move away.

“it is always needed, then?”

Zenyatta squared his shoulders and tilted his head back. Unconsciously, he straightened his back, moving from his demure, hunched pose to his full height, coaxed by Akande’s provocations, fixing his gaze on him.

“It would seem so.”

The hand on his neck stopped touching him, and Zenyatta relaxed minutely, though Akande did not move away, nor did his eyes wander away from his facial plate. He was too close, invading and imposing, but Zenyatta did not think to retreat or concede.

After what felt like forever, the smirk on Akande’s face softened into something different, though just as sharp, and he took a step back. Instantly, his body language shifted to something less charged and more poised.

“There is much to gain from such a stance, monk. I will be back, so feel free to… _relax_ , as you see fit.”

Akande turned away and left, and it was perhaps this show of confidence, his blatant disregard of Zenyatta as a possible threat, that made the ache in Zenyatta’s processors flare up.

Once he was sure he was alone, he slumped and slouched again, folding in on himself, tired and weary.

With soft, soundless steps, Zenyatta retired to a corner of the room –his prison, his gold-gilded cage– and shuffled into the familiar lotus position, seeking comfort in the one thing he could still do, even here.

Meditation came to him easily, washing away the wariness until he felt stable once again.

***

Zenyatta observed the bottle in front of him, but made no attempt to pick it up.

Sitting comfortably at the other side of the table, arms on his thighs, Akande was looking at him. Waiting.

 “I do not understand.”

Akande’s lips stretched into a small leer. “There is nothing to understand. Your presence here might not be a choice on your part, but that does not mean you should be treated poorly.”

“I feel you are contradicting yourself.” Zenyatta did not look up from the bottle, examining it closely with his optical sensors. It was an expensive brand of oil, the kind that he caught on holovision often, specifically made for omnics to enjoy. “By simply holding me against my will, you are indeed treating me poorly.”

He knew his comment would be ignored, so he looked up to meet Akande’s eyes, knowing that looking away would be counted as a loss. Akande’s intense focus was unnerving, there was always something in his gaze that Zenyatta could not decipher, something akin to thirst, that made him sharper if possible. Whenever he entered the room, he would almost never look away.

If Zenyatta had human skin, it would prickle –but as it was, his circuits buzzed uncomfortably with a weird feeling, a little like anticipation, a little like dread.

He had yet to understand why he was under such close scrutiny.

Akande’s interest was perhaps related to his ability to channel the Iris, that much was obvious, but the man should know that Zenyatta had nothing to give to him. The Iris was not a bargaining chip, and Zenyatta himself, while a member of OverWatch, was not irreplaceable, nor did he know the inner workings of the organization.

For someone like Akande, Zenyatta held no importance.

So… why was he here?

“I am unable to consume this,” he chose to say instead, addressing the subject at hand.

Akande had visited him once a day so far, and this marked the third visit, and the third day of his captivity. Each time he had asked him trivial questions about his past, unassuming things, before he left, apparently satisfied. Zenyatta still had no idea what he sought, but with every visit Zenyatta grew more certain that Akande was certain he would get it.

This was the first time he had arrived with… an offering.

Akande shook his head slowly, the muscles in his neck tensing and bulging at the small movement.

Sitting there, poised as he was, he still appeared to be ready to strike.

“You seem to think you can lie to me, monk.”

He stood up, slowly, and in two steps he was towering over Zenyatta’s seat. Zenyatta tilted his head up, feeling as small as he looked, but was not expecting the thumb that moved to trace the seams of his mouth piece, rubbing against its edge once, from right to left, then back.

Zenyatta shivered at the touch, shock travelling through his circuits enough that he made a small, startled movement before he could think better.

Akande’s hand wrapped around his chin, keeping him from retreating, and his thumb pressed just a little harder. Zenyatta felt his jaw, usually shut, part a little, the seam of his mouth piece giving in. Akande was so close he could see the flash of satisfaction in his expression, but instead of forcing Zenyatta’s mouth fully open to expose his lie, his weakness, he let go.

“I wonder,” he murmured, his voice low enough to resemble a growl, “if this is a choice or a rule of conduct.”

“This–” his voice wavered, much to his embarrassment, the tiniest tremble that betrayed his shock “is a personal choice.”

He was aware his hands were shaking minutely, gripping his knees like an anchor against Akande’s overwhelming presence, and he felt a wave of shame at the way he had just been handled.

It could have been so easy for Akande to snap his neck.

“Hmmm.”

Finally, Akande moved away, and Zenyatta felt the heavy pressure around his core lessen considerably.

Shaken, processors buzzing and fans whirring quietly, Zenyatta was grateful to be sitting, for he was not sure his legs would hold him up.

“How many things did you… choose to part with, monk?”

The question had Zenyatta tense all over again, coils of unease wrapping themselves inside his core.

“I do not see how that is relevant.”

Akande smirked, slow and pleased. He turned his back to him, and with a slow stride he returned to his seat, though he did not sit down, standing next to it. “Everything about you is relevant to me, monk. I seek knowledge.”

Zenyatta was puzzled at that, for he was sure Akande knew that the Iris could not be reached by organic means. If he was simply attempting to harness its power through Zenyatta, then he would be sorely disappointed.

“I do not actively choose to renounce to things, but I do not seek out anything unless I have need of it. I do not require commodities, not because I do not enjoy them, but because I do not need an excess.”

He did not look around at the room, but he knew Akande would understand.

Such room was given to him, a captive –an omnic, at that– and yet it was far from a barren cage. The walls were decorated with expensive paintings, their quality unmatched by anything Zenyatta had seen before, and there were beautiful fabrics and textures draped on the walls as well. The bed, though Zenyatta had no use for it, was covered with what looked like excellent quality bedsheets, the carpets were lush and thick, and even the drapes appeared to be expensive.

It was a show of opulence, perhaps, a declaration of wealth.

“Do you not enjoy your room?” if not for the smirk, it might have been a honest question.

“It is rather excessive,” Zenyatta replied.

“As I said, there is no need to treat you poorly. I thought you would rather appreciate to have decent accommodations.”

“As beautiful as this room is, it is still a cage.”

“And you will not be fooled by mere objects, when what you seek is your freedom?” Akande leered, and moved away from him, back to the door. “As beautiful as this room is, what it contains is what keeps my attention. I will take my leave now, but I will be back. Feel free to enjoy my… gift… in privacy, if you prefer. I do not mind.”

Zenyatta watched him go, tense and weary.

His eyes fell once again on the bottle of oil in front of him. Such a small, unassuming gesture, that could mean so many things.

Most of all, a show of power.

Again, as he did every time Akande left the room, he moved to the small, unadorned corner, settled down, and meditated.

He sorely missed his mala.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's second chapter, I hope it's good! Please feel free to drop a comment, it makes me really happy if you do!

**Chapter 02**

 

Zenyatta sighed quietly, his humming lowering in intensity as he unfolded his arms, slowly resurfacing from his meditation session.

His forehead array lit up fully again and his optical sensors flickered on, blurry at first, and then they focused and Zenyatta found himself staring right at Akande, sitting on the sofa in front of him.

The sight was unexpected and Zenyatta let out a soft, surprised sound, pressing his back flush against the wall behind him.

He had not heard the man come in at all.

Akande visited in the afternoons, allowing Zenyatta a semblance of control over his mornings, which he spent meditating in preparations for the man’s next visit, but…

He supposed he would not be given that much reassurance any longer.

“Greetings.” He kept his voice even and calm to hide how unsettled he was. “You have feathered feet, for I did not hear you come in.”

Akande bowed his head slightly. “I have learned much over the years I spent training as a fighter,” he answered, sounding pleased by Zenyatta’s words. It occurred to him, belatedly, that they could constitute a compliment. “I have seen you fight, as well. Did you learn it under your master?”

Just like before, the offhanded mention of Mondatta made Zenyatta’s circuits tense.

“No,” he answered, and if there was perhaps more strength than usual in his tone, he ignored it. “My brother never was made to fight.”

“Is that so?” again, a flash of what appeared to be interest in Akande’s eyes.

Zenyatta drew himself back, but there was nowhere to go, the wall hard against his back. The weight of Akande’s eyes pinned him there, and it left him feeling open and naked, so he smoothly unfolded his legs and rose to his feet. He moved away from the wall slowly, deliberately, without rushing and without showing his opponent his back.

Akande followed him with his gaze, his smirk widening slightly, shoulders squared, chin tilted down, eyes narrowed a bit.

“Feeling cornered, monk?” he stood up, and Zenyatta found himself taking a step back, body automatically settling for a defensive position, though he could not perceive any ill intention in Akande’s aura yet. There were still far too many emotions there for Zenyatta to wish to look deeper, but he could see that much on the surface.

“The situation is not ideal,” he kept his tone clipped, even. “And you have all the advantages here. It would take nothing for you to subdue me.”

There –again, _something_ flashed into Akande’s eyes and his aura grew darker, thicker with a different emotion, intense and overpowering everything else. Zenyatta clenched his hands reflexively, unable to read it.

“It would indeed please me,” Akande’s voice lowered an octave, rumbling in his throat with unknown promises. “To find you helpless in my hands. I do already have you trapped, but that image is even more appealing.”

Zenyatta did not move, wishing more than ever to have his mala with him, if only to make what seemed like an inevitable fight a little less one-sided, but after a few tense seconds Akande seemed to relax, cracking his knuckles and his neck.

“It would also please me to fight you again. I did not pull my punches when we first crossed paths, but I feel we had no time to truly _understand_ each other. You have the make of a fighter, and the skills of a seasoned warrior. I would like to see more of that.”

Zenyatta hesitated for a moment.

He knew very little of Akande –the man who had taken up the mantle of Doomfist, who had opposed OverWatch and had been sent to prison for years until he’d gotten free and had started to fight again the reformed OverWatch.

Zenyatta had little care to know the man or get info on him, and what little he knew came from Genji’s tales, and later from Lena’s as well.

Their paths had converged only once, that he knew of –the one fight that had caused Zenyatta to be captured and taken away against his will. Yet, the man spoke as if he’d known of him for longer than that, as if he’d studied him as an opponent –perhaps he did so for every OverWatch member, but Zenyatta still did not know what made him any different. Perhaps it was a mere happenstance, Akande picking him without much thought among newer OverWatch members.

The idea of Mei being here in his place, or Lucio, or even Hana… Zenyatta felt his resolve strengthen, glad it had been him instead. He would not wish any of them to face such man one-on-one.

Akande… a rich, smart business man with a past as a fighter, who had enough training to be deathly, with or without his gauntlet, who was part of an organization that had…

Zenyatta tilted his head forwards in a gesture of challenge. “I have heard much about your abilities as a fighter, but now I find myself wondering if your true skill is elsewhere, for your tongue is sharp, and your wit sharper. Yet, I never fight to lose.”

It was not quite a compliment, as Zenyatta was merely stating a fact –prodding and pushing, he was testing how far Akande could be led before he snapped– but the reaction he got was a low, pleased hum.

It seemed that a lot of what Zenyatta did, no matter how inconsequential, got that same reaction from him. Unsettling as it was, perhaps it was better than anger.

Akande moved forwards, rolling his shoulders, and Zenyatta’s body moved back into position without even thinking about it; one big, calloused hand moved to grab one of Zenyatta’s lithe wrists, almost dwarfing it in his hold, but the grasp was gentle, if steely.

With a tug, Akande tried to move Zenyatta’s wrist upwards and he opposed to the movement, closing his hand into a fist and resisting.

“Such limbs were not built for fighting, monk. Yet, you were also not born to be a monk. It was all your choice, and not one dictated by your… master. Your _brother_ ,” Akande’s voice was rumbling, so low it could be almost a purr, and Zenyatta’s auricular receptors whirred a little, his circuits split between panicking at the hold or at the weird tone. “You had your… protocols, your original programming, which was not what you chose to follow. You wanted to learn how to fight. How to protect yourself. Maybe you even enjoyed it –the thrill of a fight, of besting your opponent on even grounds. Pushing yourself to be the best. And then… somehow, you sought out a life as a pacifist. That, too, was a choice, but not one that lasted for long.”

Zenyatta ceased to try and free his wrist.

He should not be shocked that Akande had done research on him, though he knew little could be accessed as the Shambali monastery’s files were protected against hacking by high-ranked protocols and firewalls, but he still _was_.

There was still little Akande could gain from learning more about him, and yet…

Akande’s other hand, his prosthetic one, moved to grab Zenyatta’s waist, one finger idly rubbing against an exposed circuit, and Zenyatta’s mind buzzed at the feeling, an unsettling weight pressing down on his core at the absurdly intimate gesture, so out of place in such a situation.

If this was another way Akande was trying to confuse him, he had to admit he was succeeding.

“You could say I understand, as I had a path I forged with my own strength, fighting each step of the way,” Akande was still talking, and the mix of his low tone and the hand on his hip was distracting, the oppressive feeling of his aura clogging what was left of Zenyatta’s processors. “You are different from the other monks, and it is why you left them behind –to find your path elsewhere, while still carrying with you the weight of what you learned there.”

The hand on his waist inched upwards, slowly, fingers reaching towards his back, to the exposed circuitry, and Zenyatta jolted backwards, attempting to remove himself from the wandering touch, but the grip on his wrist kept him from moving too far.

“It would not do to assume there is much that makes us similar,” he chose to say, having figured out where Akande was going with his speech. His voice did not shake, but it was a close call. “I did not shape my path into one of destruction, as you did.”

“Hmmm… and yet, you sought to distance yourself from your master’s teachings, he who was not built to fight, Tekhartha Mondatta–” this close, touching him, Akande could feel the jolt that went through Zenyatta’s body, the sudden tension in his servos at the mere mention of the dead omnic’s name “–and you have joined an organization that seeks to put itself in front of those in need. You offered them your skills in battle, not just your prowess as a healer.”

Zenyatta made a small, distressed sound. The hand holding his arm captive moved a little, the thumb pressing down against the joints that connected wrist to hand, rubbing against a tiny sensor.

The sensation was weird, both unpleasant and strangely pleasant, and this discordant feeling kept Zenyatta on the edge of a blade, processors working overtime to understand Akande’s actions and his sudden closeness.

It was a maddening situation, worse because it was suddenly so much harder to focus.

“I will stay strong when it is needed,” he said, echoing something he’d said during their first meeting, days earlier. “ _OverWatch_ might not have need of my aid, but they have it all the same. I chose to align myself with them, for what they do is right, unlike _your_ organization.”

Zenyatta had wished to see if mentioning OverWatch would get a reaction – _any_ reaction, really, if it got Akande to back down so he could perhaps clear his head again– but he ended up disappointed. With a small, bland shrug, Akande shoved him backwards, and Zenyatta stumbled a little before he regained his footing and pushed back, refusing to move an inch.

His build might be smaller, not made to fight, but he had gotten over that limitation a long time ago.

Rather than show annoyance at Zenyatta pushing back, resisting him, Akande seemed even more pleased, his grin stretching to show his teeth, wide and satisfied. Zenyatta likened him to a big, poised feline, and he thought the comparison apt, with the way Akande was looming over him, an overwhelming figure ready to strike, playing with him like a cat with its prey.

Looking up, Zenyatta could not help the small shiver that ran through his body, optical receptors observing the big, bulging muscles, the way Akande was tilted forwards to appear even more imposing, leaning over Zenyatta in a way that seemed like he would drape himself over him.

Zenyatta could stand his ground, but physically, Akande had him beat –and even discounting that, their strengths greatly differed, but Zenyatta had no chance, not with so many disadvantages.

With only a little more force applied, Akande moved Zenyatta back one step, then another, and once he was offset, his balance compromised, he pushed harder and Zenyatta stumbled backwards.

In a moment, his back hit the wall, and Akande followed him there, trapping him.

Zenyatta should have been upset, at yet another show of control and power. He should have felt fear, or dread, at how easily Akande manhandled him, and yet…

And yet, Akande had used no violence on him, nothing but a forceful push. He had refrained from harming him, and each action spoke of control and restraint, and despite their position now, with Zenyatta pinned against the wall at Akande’s mercy, he was still not hurt, at least not physically. It was even more puzzling, considering he had expected Doomfist to wish to break him or use him.

Akande manoeuvred Zenyatta’s trapped wrist until it was pressed against the wall at his side, and reached out with his prosthetic hand to hold his side, a thumb absently rubbing one of his pistons, slowly.

Once again Zenyatta was puzzled by Akande’s gesture –initiating contact like this felt out of place, weirdly intimate, and Zenyatta could not understand what sort of implication Akande meant to convey.

The flutter in Zenyatta’s core, though, was just as unexpected, and the tightening of his artificial wires, the flare of heat that wormed its way up his back, took Zenyatta aback in its intensity, like a small, burning shock.

This display, the man’s closeness, their position and Akande’s intense focus, his eyes never moving away from his faceplate, searching, reading through him, it made Zenyatta feel heady and overheated, and it took him only a fraction of a second longer to understand why.

Zenyatta supposed that realising he found Akande alluring while he was pinned against the wall could be ironic, in a way, but it did not make it any easier to accept.

It was a puzzling kind of allure –there was nothing redeemable about Akande. His wits, his brilliant mind, the way he coated his words with honey and poison, and the way he could manipulate someone’s weaknesses against them… Akande was dangerous, his bite corrupting and lethal, and Zenyatta had seen his kind before… though he was, by far, the worst.

He understood, perhaps too well, what kind of damage people like Akande could do, when backed by intelligence and money… and Akande had it all. He had his good looks, his prowess, his combat ability, a sharp mind and an empire built on his own merit.

The man was too entrenched in his beliefs, too secure on his path, to be able to change, even if Zenyatta could see how good such mind could do, if directed correctly.

Something about him was intriguing to Zenyatta, perhaps it was simply that such a man existed, and was in front of him, and Zenyatta did appreciate a challenge –and it would be a difficult one, dangerous and possibly deathly. Perhaps, and that was the heart of the problem, he could see the truth in Akande’s words –there was a weird kinship with the new Doomfist that Zenyatta understood deep in his circuits.

He could claim they were not alike, but that would truly be a lie.

Their core beliefs were radically different, but had the same roots, the same visceral desire to grow and reach out and express them in ways that would expand away from what they were born to be. Zenyatta felt that pull, and maybe Akande was a human, and did not respond to a basic programming, but he could see in his eyes that the pull was similar.

Yet, their stance was at complete opposition, and neither would back down from that, Zenyatta acknowledged. Akande had picked a life of destruction, while Zenyatta chose one of redemption.

They both sought to change and rebuild, but Akande wanted to burn the world and force a new one to be born from its scattered, sterile remains, while Zenyatta wished to cultivate and allow change to spread naturally, as he believed was in human and omnic nature.

What he did understand, though, was that this unwanted interest was poisonous to his mind, and the idea of being attracted to Akande, of all people, filled him with uneasiness.

If he knew, Akande would use it against him.

“Is it possible, _monk_ ” again, an inflection in Akande’s tone made Zenyatta feel like there was a weight right on his chest “that you have a _grudge_ against Talon?”

The words were out of his voice box before he could stop them. “Holding a grudge is unhealthy.”

Yet… Zenyatta was nothing if not honest with himself.

He did feel an unwavering discord towards the organization that had killed his master –his _brother_ – in cold blood. He did not let it consume him, but the feelings existed within him, balanced on the edge of a thin, sharp blade.

Mentions of Mondatta still made his core flutter in agony.

Akande seemed to understand more than he should, because the pleased, smug expression did not lessen. He pressed his palm flat against Zenyatta’s side, his fingers moving higher, treading on the edge where his circuits disappeared back behind his thoracic chassis, and Zenyatta tried without avail to hide a small jolt when Akande’s fingers trailed too close to one of the sensors hidden there.

“Why did Talon kill Mondatta?”

Zenyatta had not meant to ask, but his brain processes were sluggish, Akande’s touch almost intoxicating, and he did not wish to have anything else used against him, not when the scales were so tipped against him already.

The wandering hand stopped, fingers tapping absently against his chassis.

“Would any answer soothe your grief, or smoothen out your grudges, monk? For the death of the mentor with whom you share a name?”

They both knew the answer to that was no –Zenyatta supposed nothing would, not really.

“I had no sway in that decision. As you might know, I was… otherwise occupied at the time.” The knowing smirk gained a bitter, amused edge. Zenyatta hummed quietly in acknowledgement, more than grateful that Akande’s attention had shifted elsewhere, even if his stare was just as penetrating. “But I can very well give you an answer anyway… _change_. Tekhartha Mondatta–” again, tension went through Zenyatta’s body and again, Akande pretended to ignore it “–was far too important, far too _visible_. He’d grown a presence too strong. His death would serve more than his life ever could.”

They stared at one another for a moment longer, neither looking down, nor away.

Zenyatta had not expected a honest answer, and when his brain logs registered what Akande had said, he felt the embers of discord inside him flare up once again, anger and spite mixing together.

He knew it was not even a provocation, Akande’s tone too bland, too deadpan to mean anything more than just a statement, and yet the idea of Mondatta as worth more in death than life was… abhorrent to him.

The worst part, though, was that such deviated, twisted way of thinking made sense, if one looked at it from Talon’s point of view. They wished to cause chaos, to bring change through force and war, and an assassination served such purpose.

Mondatta’s death had not extinguished the cause he’d worked so hard to advance.

Omnics, and not just them, had risen up to the challenge, taking up the banner Mondatta had left behind. Just as many, emboldened by his assassination, had turned even more vocal against omnic rights.

All in all, dissent and uproar had doubled since his death, and many had started up acts of violence, ignoring Mondatta’s pacifist teachings in their rage. Zenyatta had seen the seeds of this discord spread everywhere as he had travelled far with Genji.

He had been suffering, but he had looked, regardless.

Akande hummed, and with a sharp flick of his arm dragged Zenyatta’s hand above his head. Zenyatta fought the urge to reach out with his other hand to stop the motion, but it would be pointless.

Something in his lack of an obvious reaction tipped Akande off, because he nodded, appreciative.

“I knew you would understand. You might not share my views –the views of Talon… but you understand that reasoning. Those with keen eyes are never blind to changes, even small ones. One can cause a ripple to spread, amplify it, until it turns the tides of an entire war.”

Again, a shift happened in Akande’s stance. He moved closer, shoulders hunching up, making him appear bigger, more imposing. He tilted his head down, his face coming so close to Zenyatta’s facial plate that Zenyatta could feel his hot breath fogging the metal surface.

“Did you think you could change things, monk, when you left your monastery? Or before then, when you took on a path of learning, of bettering yourself, of learning how to fight? That you could be part of something bigger, like a tiny cog in a mechanism? Or did you believe yourself to be something greater, an active part rather than just a mindless component? Was this why you joined OverWatch?”

Zenyatta did his best to square his shoulders in defiance. “I am but a conduit for someone else’s will.”

Akande’s laughter was loud and boisterous, so honestly amused Zenyatta was taken aback.

He watched him laugh for a few seconds, chest heaving and shoulders shaking, surprised at the sound and at how pleasing it was.

“Yet another lie you tell me, monk. You are not a mere vessel.” The grin was wide, and for a moment there was not a trace of smugness nor slyness in Akande’s face… then it shifted a little, the grin becoming too pointed, his eyes narrowed just enough to twist his expression back into the same intense, hungry look from before. “You _interest_ me. You have forged your path, and you are still walking it, bringing with you the smouldering embers of your master’s will, yet changing it to suit you better, marking it as your own. You fight where _he_ wished for peace, for you know no real peace comes without a price… and you hold such great power in your hands, at that, yet refuse to use it, harnessing it to heal and protect when you could _conquer_ with it. Such restraint, such beauty–”

Zenyatta’s voice box made a small, aborted sound, surprising himself, so he hurried to focus and speak up. “Again, you believe you could sway me to your cause, using me, using my powers, but the Iris will not bend to the will of anyone, not even you.”

He did not expect to have a reaction then but he got one –Akande, surprised, pulled back a little, and his gaze seemed to sharpen a little as he observed Zenyatta in silence. Zenyatta had no expression, so he had no idea what the man was searching for.

Akande had resumed his casual caresses on Zenyatta’s exposed circuitry at some point during his speech, but he stopped as he pulled back and Zenyatta’s body almost arched up to him, though he managed to stop himself, ashamed at such reaction.

“Oh.” Akande sounded like he’d just had a sudden realisation, because he threw his head back and laughed again, amused. “It appears you misunderstood my intentions, monk. It is not your God that I wish to bend to my will. It is you.”

Taken aback, Zenyatta went slack against the wall, processes buzzing in shock and confusion.

“It is true you caught my interest for the power you harness. I happened upon a demonstration of your skills, a brief recording, and it made me wish to know more. I wanted to see for myself the omnic who had been given the gift to commune with a divinity. You are a vessel for a God, monk, and one who has been chosen for that role, but one who also chose to walk that path at your own pace, and you were favoured for this, as I have seen. There is potential you are not using, as I have felt on my skin during our brief fight…”

Akande gaze turned dark, baring his teeth for a moment, remembering the unsettling feeling of Zenyatta’s orb of discord attaching itself to him, bringing forth thoughts, insecurities, memories that could have had a lesser being crumble under their weight.

They had slowed him down, but he had not stopped, too focused on his prize to falter when it was right there for him to _take_.

“But I have seen you fight. I have observed you for a long while without you knowing. I reviewed the fights you were part of, the missions with OverWatch in which you actively participated, and the more I looked, the more intrigued I became. You are a puzzle, and one I will delight myself with solving, monk… but that is not the only thing I wish to do to you. I wish to have you, explore every inch of your body until you are putty in my hands, trembling and shaking as I take you apart and make you _mine_.”

Zenyatta realised, with a jolt, that he was shaking.

The depth of Akande’s interest –he could understand what it meant now, and still he resisted the knowledge, disbelieving that the man could have such focus for him, and yet–

The hand on his side moved lower, fingers grazing the exposed circuits that connected his bust with his legs, one thumb pressing down, rubbing and moving deeper, sneaking under Zenyatta’s chassis, and he trembled, feeling it graze, if only slightly, a sensitive sensor barely hidden underneath.

His hand shook with something akin to desperation as he hurried to stop Akande from moving too far, fingers wrapping around his prosthetic wrist. His processes were working overtime to make sense of it all –his words, his actions, reviewing their previous conversations, analysing everything he’d said and done with newfound knowledge.

The way Akande had moved and acted with him, the hidden meaning in his words, the intense focus in that wild, penetrating gaze that had never strayed from him and the casual, intimate touches…

“You will not stop me, monk, because this pleases you.”

Again he was jolted out of his thoughts and Zenyatta found his attention taken by Akande once more.

“Of all the ones I could have noticed, fighters with unrivalled skills, whose sense of justice and whose beliefs exist to be challenged, I saw your worth, and your connection to me. I looked at you, and what you did, and sought to understand more.”

Despite Zenyatta’s hand on his wrist, Akande still had enough freedom to move his fingers again, deeper inside his plates, nudging delicate wiring and feeling the undercurrents of energy vibrate against his metallic fingers.

“You, and no one else, has caught my attention. Not a single one in OverWatch would ever be as intriguing as you are, or appealing to the eye, just _you_.”

Zenyatta made a soft, disbelieving sound, and Akande chuckled.

“Does no one praise you, little monk, for the good you do? Weave grateful work for a healing hand when they are wounded,” Akande’s voice turned into a low purr, almost sensual, the hand holding Zenyatta’s wrist moving a finger to caress his open palm “or words of wisdom in time of need,” he leaned forwards, lips coming to the side of Zenyatta’s head, where his auricular receptors were “or praises for how appealing you look?”

Zenyatta’s fingers tightened around Akande’s prosthetic wrist and he seized up a bit, angling his head away from Akande’s head, unconsciously exposing his neck instead.

“I… do not require any thanks, or baseless praise for what I choose to do, or for my performance in a situation of duress.”

Akande chuckled, low and seductive.

“Do you not, _Zenyatta_?”

Zenyatta’s frame _shook_.

The wall was hard against his back, and suddenly his frame felt almost too sensitive, primed for input and jittery, hyper aware of Akande’s body draped over his own, of how he had absolutely no control over the situation, of the confidence he could hear in Akande’s words.

 “Oh, but even if they did, and you received small, bland thanks, it would not be enough,” Akande’s lips were so close to his head Zenyatta could almost feel them, a mere hair’s width away from him. “When all you are is worth more than a cheap ‘thank you’. You bestow your attention to those unfortunate enough to not have been chosen by a God, offer a hand to those in need, seek to find ways for them to better themselves when most will choose not to follow through, tireless in your attempts, and they will not properly see you and the good you do…”

“You would not understand, for what you seek is a dystopia, a corruption of all forms until chaos is what remains,” Zenyatta wished his voice did not shake as he spoke, betraying him. “I have been given a gift by the Iris, it is not worth of praise of me to wish to share it.”

“Is it piety, then? Selflessness?” Akande retreated, just enough that Zenyatta was left with a mixed feeling of relief and regret, only to have to watch his grin widen once again. “Or is it that you feel you have to take it into your hands, and bring the change you wish to see in the world _yourself_?”

With that, Akande moved away.

He stepped back, releasing both Zenyatta’s side and his wrist, and Zenyatta’s grip on his prosthetic hand slackened as well, allowing him to leave, though without Akande’s hold on him, he felt unsteady, body slumped against the wall in an attempt not to crumble down.

There was an ache in his chest, and lower still beneath his modesty plate, burning and pulsating, and he despised it, despised the desire he felt and the fact that Akande had caused such reactions in him.

More than that, he despised how shaken he felt.

How such intense attention made him respond instantly.

“I shall return, and let you consider my words. I do not plan on stopping, but now you are aware of what I wish to have. I will conquer you, monk, have you spread for me to take, and you _will_ fold.”

He exited the room without looking back, but the chaos Akande left behind was a tumultuous tide, with Zenyatta shaken and trembling, helpless against it.

Meditation did not come for him, not easily nor at all, and his hands did not stop shaking for a long time even while alone.

Zenyatta barely allowed himself to think that during the whole confrontation, he’d closed off against Akande’s aura, unwilling to face even that small defeat.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the nice reviews, you make my day, really! and all the kudos too!
> 
> (next chapter, u guessed it. the smut)

**Chapter 03**

 

The room was quiet, and velvety dark.

There was only the faint light of the moon streaming from the closed window, casting its pale glow around, but Zenyatta’s attention was not on the sight of the compound outside, nor on the moon or the room around him.

A soft hum coming from deep within Zenyatta’s core was the only sound in the room as Zenyatta tried to meditate, hands loosely abandoned on his knees.

He missed the serene chimes of his mala. They always helped him fall deeper into meditation, but Akande had taken them away, and since then he’d had to do without even that little consolation.

It was… embarrassingly difficult to keep focused and empty his mind. His thoughts kept spiralling back into disarray whenever he thought about his captor and his motivations, which happened far too often. Zenyatta felt unbalanced, upended and tired.

He had not expected that his imprisonment would be like this. The pressure of Akande’s constant visits, his own emotions about him, his constant isolation… Zenyatta could feel the situation wearing him out like a slow tide on a rock.

There was no reason to deny he felt… attraction for Akande. To be able to achieve balance within himself, Zenyatta had learned early on to be honest about his own emotional state, and admitting when he was interested in something… or someone… even when it was not good was important. Yet, the idea that such attraction was not only returned, but the reason Akande had started to actively pursue him… it was risible.

If not for Akande’s aura, he would have thought Akande was merely using Zenyatta’s attraction against him.

One could fake words and actions, but not auras, especially not when one was unaware he was being spied on in such a way, and Zenyatta had been inspecting his aura since the start. It was not fake.

That… made the situation even more dangerous and unstable.

It was not that Zenyatta had any fear he would be destabilized or that his convictions would waver –they were not this weak, or easily frayed. It was merely Akande’s unwavering attention that was the problem. It was his desire to pursue him, his intense focus…

The thought that someone could look at Zenyatta with such honest, raw desire was flattering, and in any other situation, considering the attraction was returned, Zenyatta would have allowed himself to indulge with ease, but that such person ended up being, well… Doomfist… that was too much.

Zenyatta had no idea how to deal with this, or what the correct path to take was.

He was no saint, and he certainly was not celibate, but he had prioritized other things over the years, and physical gratification had been so low on his list that he had almost forgotten he could be attracted to someone, and even more so that someone else could be to _him_.

What could one do with such attention, such praise? It sent tingles down his circuits, made him squirm and heat up, uncomfortable yet strangely pleasant, and Zenyatta had always shied away from such situations, not that they’d happened often that he knew of.

Akande had broken into his comfortable peace, leaving behind something Zenyatta had not expected to feel ever again, but it was _there_ , and it was… _distracting_.

His thoughts lingered on the way Akande’s hands had felt, caressing his visible circuits, how he’d known where to go, seeking out the tiny sensors hidden underneath his chassis, and the memory of their touch still sent a small shiver down his back.

He had wanted him to continue, almost starved for it, and he was embarrassed to admit Akande’s words had also helped to spread fire within him.

It was troubling to think he could be so easily swayed by a compliment and a pair of big, wandering hands belonging to such a man. He should have felt guilty for thinking this way about an enemy, and one that had him kidnapped –and to be honest, the captivity part was upsetting, and Zenyatta still craved to run and avoid this situation– but it was hard not to find himself… charmed, in a way.

It was a mess.

Just the thought was enough to bring back the familiar ache inside his modestly panel, so he ignored it and hummed louder, attempting to drown his scattered thoughts into the sound, but to no avail.

The worst part was how, despite his promises, Akande had failed to return the next day.

And the day after that.

Zenyatta had been left on his own, trapped within the confines of his room with no other means to entertain himself than to think and wander about.

His thoughts strayed, sometimes down paths he did not wish to indulge into, and the silence ate away at him, making him more antsy.

Meditation was off for him, in his perpetual state of tension, so he had walked from one side of the quarters to the other, seeking something to occupy his mind.

The walls were thick and insulated, the tapestry and decorations intricate and beautiful, but they did not keep much of his attention for too long, and he felt useless like this, unable to focus and unable to do anything except await for the return of his tormentor.

The window could be opened, and it led to a small terrace, but the walls of the garden had sensors and cameras and lasers just ought of sight. Without his mala, he could not target them to destroy them, and if he attempted to jump or climb down the balcony he was not sure even his sturdy body would survive the fall without damages.

He could heal himself, but his mala helped amplify his healing powers, so it would take him too long to fix his body enough to get up and continue his escape plan. He would be found out right away.

If he touched the Iris and transcended, it would expend much of his energy, and he had no idea how far from civilization Akande’s mansion was, nor how many guards were stationed outside, nor how far the firewalls disabling his sensors could reach.

He had to have faith that Athena would locate him, but he was starting to believe that chance was rounding on zero.

Zenyatta sighed softly, and the humming from his core faded away into silence.

Still in lotus position, he flickered his optical sensors on and allowed them to recalibrate on the lack of light then looked down at his hands, pondering.

Of all the things Akande had said, one had been too on point –he used only part of the Iris’ power, keeping the balance tipped on healing. Inside him, equally realised, was the potential to surge through on Discord, amplify it and spread it as he did while he transcended, but he refuted that possibility.

The amount of Discord he used whenever he sent a mala to an opponent was risible, a mere ghost of it, just enough to tip the scales and make them into an easy target. Usually it was enough, though some enemies had required a few stronger hits. Yet, that had not stopped Akande from striking him down and kidnapping him, regardless… so now Zenyatta wondered –would he be able to summon more Discord to cat at Akande to keep him away?

How much of it would be enough to make sure Akande remained far from him, so he could find balance within himself once again, without truly harming the man or casting permanent shadows on the man’s mind and soul?

He unfolded from his lotus position and moved to the bed, sliding on top of the soft, plush mattress with some degree of hesitation. Having avoided using any part of the room except for the floor for the past few days, just by sitting on the bed he felt like he was giving in to Akande, though the man was not even in the room.

For the first time in days, Zenyatta sat on something softer than the floor, his sensors registering the different sensation with relief.

Slowly, hesitantly, Zenyatta looked down at his hands and focused. The swirling purple hues of Discord swirled instantly around his fingers, never solid but present nonetheless, and he tried not to flinch as he felt it reach his sensors, clouding his processors and senses.

There was a reason he had his mala always on him, and it was not just because they helped him focus and amplify his powers, but also because they kept both Discord and Harmony enclosed within them, safe and confined, so they would not affect him as well.

And yet… Zenyatta firmly believed in first-hand lessons, and even more so in first-hand reminders. If he’d summoned Harmony for himself, it would have soothed his confusion by pushing it down, and he refused to ignore the problem, hoping it would go away.

It would not.

He was still trapped and Akande would eventually come back for him. The wait was doing worse things to his mind because it allowed him to let his thoughts fester, and avoiding the situation would not help.

He needed to face his fears, all of them, and purge them from his core.

Steeling his mind, Zenyatta allowed more Discord to flow through him, unbidden.

The dark feeling spread from his fingers down his arm, tendrils of purple sneaking and unravelling themselves, and the connection to Zenyatta’s brain synapsis was instant. He knew what was coming, had expected it, and yet the assault of negative thoughts still rattled him in its intensity.

Doubts about his work with OverWatch came first, as they always did. He’d long since accepted those, making peace with them. Then came a growing unease related to Akande’s motivations, the way he had tried to convince Zenyatta of his own truths, and then questions about his claims, about the interest he had for Zenyatta, if it was just lies to use him. Then came the worry, the prickling fear about his chances of survival, and about his captivity.

Zenyatta allowed those thoughts to wash over him, not seeking to control them, simply letting them come to life from within him. They had always been there, hidden in the depth of his mind, unwanted and uncared for, and now they were coming to the surface.

He looked them over, allowed them to rattle his certainty, and fought against them and against the Discord, forcing himself to counter each one of them.

Were his friends even searching for him? Did they know he’d been taken, did they even care?

Would he fall under Akande’s spell? Were his convictions stronger than Zenyatta’s ones? Was it worth it to just let himself indulge, even with a man such as this, a weakness of the body and one of the mind, or was it just his desire trying to trick him to concede? Was he not supposed to be strong against temptation?

Truly, was Zenyatta weak?

The doubts clouded his processes, making him waver, but Zenyatta forced them down, finding his focus again, calming his mind and bringing his doubts back under control.

His friends might be unable to come to his aid, but they were probably worried about him. He had forged some good friendships over the months he had spent with OverWatch, and even discounting those, there was still Genji and his unwavering presence at Zenyatta’s side. Even if Zenyatta could lose hope about anyone else, he knew Genji’s support was true.

Their companionship had lasted years, and the shared respect would not waver easily.

As for Akande’s words… there was nothing there that Zenyatta had not thought himself in the past, but his path was clear, and his mind set already. Akande was chaotic, and he created conflict to purge the world.

Zenyatta chose to resolve whatever conflict he happened to see, but never sought to weave any himself.

The next flurry of fears was less rational, more impulsive. His physical desires were uncommon, so there was no frame of reference there, and yet… he could allow himself a moment of weakness, if Akande’s focus remained unchanged, but his certainties could never be so easily rattled, or changed.

It would matter none, if he allowed himself to think about it, if in the end he remained strong against the tide.

His fans kicked in loudly, releasing heat from his body as he fought against waves of fatigue, processes working harder than usual to keep the Discord from harming him further. Zenyatta’s shoulders shook for the strain, but he kept the stream of his power steady, controlling how much of it he allowed on himself, and after what felt like forever, he released his hold on it, dissipating the tendrils of purple back into himself.

The sudden disappearance of those dark, haunting whispers was almost a blessing for his mind, and he wheezed and slumped forwards, his battery levels reduced greatly but his mind clearer than it had been for days.

Zenyatta let out a long sigh, though he had no need for breath, and then fell sideways, using the wall as support for a few precious seconds of weakness.

He was grateful he had decided to sit on the bed, the soft mattress much better for him than the floor. He was no stranger to comfort, though he oftentimes chose to avoid it as he had no need for it, but in this case, he felt it was alright to indulge.

One hand pressed on the bedcovers, his shoulder against the wall and his feet on the floor, Zenyatta closed his optical receptors and relaxed, lulled into a state of calm by the mix of fatigue and the soft buzz in his body after the waves of discord.

The soft noise of the door opening roused him from his quiet moment, and his optical sensors flickered on.

Akande slid inside the darkened room, posture slouched a little, then stopped to look at the corner where Zenyatta usually was, clearly expecting to find him there.

Zenyatta wondered what the man saw, with only the light of the moon filtering from the window, but with his sensors he could see Akande’s face almost as clearly as he would during the day. For that one second, Akande’s expression looked almost softer, without the intense, greedy look he always had whenever they talked.

Zenyatta opened his senses up to read the man’s aura in this split moment when Akande had not yet seen him, and he felt…

Akande’s eyes shifted to him, finding him curled up on the bed, and Zenyatta felt his emotions hit him like a punch in the chest. Akande’s eyes narrowed and darkened considerably, his shoulders tensing up instantly, and Zenyatta’s circuits hiccupped as he felt a lick of Akande’s lust curl around him like a blanket, heady and intense.

He had no name for that feeling before, but now that he did, he could recognise its meaning rather well.

If there was any doubt that the man was attracted to him, just this banished it.

“What a pleasant sight you offer me,” Akande took a step forwards, and Zenyatta straightened his back, feeling his body heat up under his gaze, yet worried at the same time, his frame still sluggish after his work with Discord. “I had despaired to see you use any other part of this room, but it is quite the welcome to find you there.”

Zenyatta rose from the bed, grateful when he did not stumble, and then his forehead array blinked in a frown as he found himself probing further, past the hazy cloud of lust and to the first nudge of what he’d felt earlier…

“You are wounded.” The words came out by themselves, a statement but filled with surprise.

Akande furrowed his brows, crossing his arms in front of himself. “Is this yet another ability you have, to be able to sense when one has been harmed?”

Zenyatta chose not to answer.

Moments earlier he’d debated whether he would be able to have Akande stand an onslaught of Discord in its raw form just to keep him away, but Zenyatta was, first and foremost, a healer.

Healers did not pick and choose which side to aid –if there was need, even from those who would not wish for it outright but still had their souls cry out in pain, a healer responded as was their nature. That also included being on opposite sides.

“Allow me.” He stretched one hand towards Akande in askance, not moving from where he was standing near the bed, and observed the way the man’s shoulders hunched up and surprise flashed over his face.

“You would wish to extend such courtesy even to someone who has you captive, monk?”

“Once, a long time ago, I devoted myself to a life of meditation and spirituality. I have placed my soul on the steps of the Iris, and promised I would bring my aid to anyone who required it.” Zenyatta remained immobile there, waiting, body relaxed in a deceptively passive stance. “Anyone. Even Doomfist.” He hesitated. “Even _you_.”

Again, the scales tipped slightly, and Zenyatta had to wonder if this small slip-up would cause more harm than good.

Time ticked by, and Zenyatta waited, patiently, for Akande to make his decision until he appeared to relax, unfolding his arms and taking a step towards him.

He looked just as imposing and strong as ever, but Zenyatta could feel the hints of pain flash across his aura, though none seemed to appear on his face.

Stopping inches away from him, Akande raised one eyebrow at him and Zenyatta shook his head, still not moving. He probed with his senses, gently, aware that Akande would not feel it, until he found what he was looking for.

With deliberately slow movements, he leaned forwards and pressed the tip of his fingers on Akande’s lower stomach.

He felt muscles and fat tissue twitch under his touch but Akande made no move to push him away, so he pressed his palm down, not enough to hurt but enough to _feel_ , underneath the shirt, the bandages covering the man’s wound.

He ran quick diagnostics, sensors flashing info and data up to his brain, and let out a small sigh.

“It must have been quite the opponent, if they were able to inflict this kind of wound on you.” Zenyatta said absently, already focused on summoning the tendrils of Harmony from within himself. “It is a protected area, one would need to be rather close to be able to do such damage.”

Akande snorted. “It was but a fluke, and a coward man who attacked me instead of paying for the debts he contracted with me.”

Zenyatta hummed, and flickers of gold shimmered to life past his wrist and down to his fingers, their tendrils burning from the depths of his forehead array. Akande’s eyes were glued to his face, but Zenyatta could feel his muscles jolt as the Iris soothed his pain and healed the wound, replenishing his energy as he did so.

It was not a flesh wound but it was not too deep, so it did not take long for Zenyatta’s powers to work and close the wound completely.

Harmony swirled to him as well, and Zenyatta welcomed its feeling with gratitude after Discord, warmth encompassing him with the gentle, soft touch of the Iris. He lost himself into it, for a few precious seconds at peace with everything, balanced and in harmony.

When the flickers of golden faded from his fingers, Zenyatta let out a soft hum, his fatigue more of a strain now after having used both Discord and Harmony so freely. He made to move away, legs slightly unsteady, but Akande’s hand wrapped around his own, preventing him from putting distance between them.

With a startled jolt, Zenyatta looked up, mind clearing a little.

They were so close to one another, and Zenyatta had forgotten, in his desire to help, that he was supposed to keep away from him.

“I had not realised,” Akande murmured, in a low, appreciative voice, “that you could heal without the use of your mala.”

Zenyatta’s forehead array blinked unsteadily, torn between trying to appear less tired than he was and wanting to move away before something happened, before he was tested and tempted once again, before–

“I do not find myself lacking their presence often, but they are simply aiding me in my focus. Without them, I can still touch the Iris as I please.”

Akande hummed, and then he brought Zenyatta’s hand up to his face, pressing his open, slack palm against his cheek, then to his mouth.

Zenyatta made a soft noise of protest, his throat buzzing, when Akande kissed the palm of his hand, lips open, and looked down at him with half-lidden eyes.

“Where do the mala come from, then?”

Again with the questioning, but Zenyatta could barely focus on his words, his processes only registering the feeling of Akande’s lips moving against his palm, his sensors feeling more than just pressure and temperature there. Heat rose from where Akande’s lips were touching, like fire through his wires, like static.

“I… they were a gift from my master,” he replied, and when Akande moved, taking a step back, Zenyatta was tugged forwards and stumbled, using his free hand to keep himself up by pressing it against Akande’s chest. “Except… except one.”

Akande followed the curve of Zenyatta’s hand with his lips, pressing small, lingering kisses all over its palm, then up to the tip of his long fingers, watching Zenyatta shiver as he did so.

“Except one?” he prodded, pleased to see Zenyatta waver.

“I… made one of them.” Zenyatta’s optical receptors whirred and lost focus for a moment, and the hand on Akande’s chest clenched down on his shirt. Akande’s lips were hot against his fingers, and when he bared his teeth to bite down on his middle finger, Zenyatta almost whimpered. “It is stronger than the others, but… imperfect. Mine.”

“Then it is not imperfect,” Akande purred, and his other hand travelled up Zenyatta’s side to curl around his back, pressing him fully against his chest. His prosthetic fingers slid to caress each node and bump of Zenyatta’s spine, digits cracking with electricity, and Zenyatta _did_ whimper then, forehead array blinking on and off. “I have to thank you, for your healing energy. It was… a most enjoyable sensation.”

Zenyatta shook his head a little, trying to clear his mind, but between the thick lust wrapping around him that belonged to Akande’s aura and his own want that burned inside his circuits, he did not want to move.

“And…” Akande’s hand moved lower again, slipping behind where Zenyatta’s back connectors were, one finger pushing through a bundle of wires to find the sensor hidden beneath, rubbing it slowly with small, circular motions “I would like to see you on the bed again. You made for an enticing sight there.”

There was a small, aborted sound coming from Zenyatta’s voice box. “I do not think that–”

Akande’s mouth returned to his hand, kissing down to his wrist, and what Zenyatta had tried to say dissolved into a small gasp.

“It is as I said,” Akande pushed him backwards, and Zenyatta did not resist, the feeling of Akande’s hand digging deep into his back making his processes reel back with input. One step, then another, and that finger continued to caress that small sensor, sending sparkles up his back. “You have healed me, and I should give you my thanks. I would like to have you spread open for me on the bed, and I want to see how you’d look as I explore your body.”

Zenyatta forced his senses to shut off the waves of lust coming from Akande’s aura, but it did nothing for him –his own want was throbbing beneath his modesty panel, brought to life by Akande’s words and Zenyatta’s desire mirroring Akande’s. It only made him confront the fact that he wanted this just as much, and that was the only truth.

“Each part of you was built following someone’s model,” Akande had yet to stop talking, and his voice stole all of Zenyatta’s attention that was not already taken by his hand on his sensors. “But they are all yours now, each imperfection and every single small scratch from your travels, my monk. All of them are a sight to behold, and I want to map them.”

“Please… cease,” Zenyatta’s voice wavered, sounding not as secure as he would have wanted.

The compliments would have sounded less truthful in anyone else’s mouth –maybe it was not rare for an omnic to find a human who could see them as more than a mix of components to use, but Zenyatta had rarely found people who were willing to see him as a _person_ , let alone a viable companion– but the conviction in Akande’s voice was almost hypnotic, and Zenyatta found himself unable to stop listening.

It also did not escape his notice that Akande was using a possessive now to address him.

“Such reticence to listen to the truth,” Akande still pushed him back, the hand caressing his sensor never ceasing. Zenyatta’s hands were shaking, and there was a soft, keening chirp threatening to leave his voice box as he arched his back into Akande’s body. “All I see in front of me is someone who shaped themselves every step of the way, making you different from other omnics. Better. That such mind chose to seek a higher connection with a God is not surprising, but you could have had so much _more_. You could have the world at your feet if you so wished. You can see me standing at the top, you could be there as well, and they would have to _bow_.”

Zenyatta pushed weakly at his chest, denying his words and what he meant –he had no need for power, or recognition, all he sought was peace and equality– but Akande continued still, weaving words in the same low, seductive tone.

“I have you here where I want you, and I will make sure I am the only one in your mind, the only one you ever crave for, the only one allowed to see you like this–” Akande brought Zenyatta’s hand down to his shoulder and let go of it, moving to cup the back of Zenyatta’s head, cradling it. “I am the only one who can see you falter, and I’m the only one who can see you moan.”

His fingers trailed down to the bundle of wires connecting Zenyatta’s head with his torso, pushing past them to sneak deeper, finding one of the nodes hidden inside, and Zenyatta shook and his legs trembled as two of his sensors were caressed at the same time.

“You are mine, monk, and you like it. The idea of _my_ attention, of being noticed and pursued, of having someone see you… I witness you, my monk, and I like what I see… and _you_ like it too.”

Zenyatta’s hand clenched down on Akande’s shoulder, the other still holding onto his shirt like a lifeline, small flares of pleasure travelling from his sensors up to his brain, and the next thing he knew was that he had his forehead pressed against Akande’s chest, dizzy and trying to keep himself from making sounds.

He tried to wriggle free, to give himself room to think, he tried to back away, but the touches did not stop, nor did he truly want them to.

“There are scratches right here, on the side of your facial plate,” Akande was looking right into his optical sensors, and Zenyatta’s forehead array blinked unsteadily. “Small cracks that you have never cared to take away, mementos of every time you have encountered opposition. Tell me about them.”

“I do not–”

“Do not lie to me.”

Zenyatta shuddered, the maddening caresses on his sensors making his processes falter, seeking more contact. He knew he was doomed to fall, the moment he’d accepted to heal Akande, and yet…

Yet he couldn’t help but anticipate for more.

“There were… there were men. They thought they could… _ah_ –” the finger sliding inside his back pushed deeper, and then there were two, circling around the sensor, both stimulating it. Zenyatta’s synth crackled and hummed. “They attacked me on the road, while I– while I was travelling to… to meet–”

“What happened to them?” there was a dark, foreboding tone in Akande’s voice, though those men were lost in the folds of time, and away from where his wrath could touch them. The fingers caressing Zenyatta’s neck pushed the wires on the side, seeking to slide in deeper.

Zenyatta slumped forwards, tilting his head down, unconsciously giving Akande more access to his neck, and Akande took that invitation and sought out more of the same sensors. There were two more hidden by the cables, and he worked on all of them one by one, switching every few seconds, never allowing Zenyatta to get used to the feeling before he moved to the next.

“I…” Zenyatta fought against the fog clouding his brain, culling background processes in an attempt to focus more, and instead giving priority to the input caused by Akande’s touches, until he could think of nothing else but that. He knew he should not answer, but it was hard to think, the maddening feeling of pleasure working up his circuits enough to cloud his thoughts. “I fought them,” he murmured, low and unsteady. “Harder than I should have, I had not yet found balance and I was…”

“… you were protecting yourself,” Akande murmured, pleased, so very pleased. “There are other scratches on your chest plates, my monk. Were they caused by your training? Small dents, spots where the metal is chipped… have you ever wished to… fix them?”

“It is but a… testament of my advancement. I would never wish to erase them.” Zenyatta gasped when the fingers on his neck twisted something there, something he had never known he had, and pleasure blossomed instantly, white hot and flaring up to his brain. His forehead array went black for a split second and he arched up against Akande’s chest, his synth singing high and loud. “ _Oh_ – _!_ ”

“Your opponents leave their mark on you, hmm?” Akande’s eyes narrowed down, his lips curled up in a smirk.

Zenyatta had barely enough time to collect himself before Akande’s mouth descended on the pistons at his neck, biting down on the metal hard enough to make small, teeth-shaped dents in them.

He could not feel pain, he had no sensors there, but he understood the gesture for what it is, and the possessive gaze he caught in Akande’s eyes made him feel hazy, and lost.

“I shall leave my marks on you, my monk, until I am sure you will not forget,” looking pleased, Akande pushed him backwards, and Zenyatta wobbled along, folding on himself in an attempt to think, pleasure still buzzing through his wires. “I will make sure you remember your beauty, and that I am part of it as well, now.”

The back of Zenyatta’s legs found the bed’s edge and he toppled over, hit by a moment of vertigo as Akande led him down, the hands caressing his sensors never stopping.

It was too much already, though Akande had done nothing yet, and Zenyatta’s hands found the bed covers and clenched down on them, not sure what else to do.

He couldn’t think, he couldn’t move, he could only fold to the pleasure and gasp.

Akande descended on him, his bigger frame enveloping Zenyatta’s completely, holding him down, and Zenyatta made a small, needy sound in the back of his voice box, startled by how hot their position made him.

Zenyatta’s legs parted to let Akande between them, his knees closing down against his sides, one of his heels digging into the soft mattress.

A prelude, just like the way his valve was burning with need to be touched from underneath his modesty panel.

Akande laughed –a low, rumbling sound that vibrated where their chests were pressed together, and Zenyatta _knew_ –

“Nowhere for you to hide from me, now. I see you.”

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> have your smut, folks! (i hope it's worth the wait!)
> 
> it's... rather long. but that's how it is, with me! i am sure you don't mind *wink wink*

**Chapter 04**

 

Zenyatta looked up and into Akande’s eyes, feeling on the precipice of something, and it was…

Exhilarating, and frightening, and…

The hand in his neck retreated, and Zenyatta tilted his head to the side with a soft whine, missing the contact already, but then his head was tilted upwards to bare his throat. Akande worked his lips on the underneath of his mouth piece where smaller, sensitive sensors were usually covered by pistons and by his chin.

Zenyatta’s synth sang and he felt lightheaded, tongue and lips working on his sensors while Akande’s prosthetic hand still zapped the ones on his lower back.

“Ah– aah…”

Trapped underneath Akande, Zenyatta could not move, body slack under the onslaught of pleasure, and all he could do was chirp and hum and writhe on the bed, unable to escape the constant assault of input.

With blurry optical receptors, Zenyatta stared as the ceiling above him swam in and out of focus, arms twitching as more of his sensors blazed awake.

It felt…

“ _Ah_ –”

Akande’s other hand moved down to the front of his chest, fingers scraping at every dent, every scratch over its surface.

It traced the contours of Zenyatta’s core, glowing softly, then lower, where his visible circuits and pistons disappeared within his thoracic chassis. Zenyatta arched his back to follow the touch and angle away from the continuous caresses at his back, but Akande was tireless and insistent, and did not let him move an inch.

There was so little time to think when all his processes were assaulted with continuous sensations…

“Tell me, my monk…” Akande murmured against the underside of his neck, feeling Zenyatta shake and tremble underneath him, “am I the first to see your beauty? Has anyone ever held you down like this, has anyone known before all the little things that can make you tick?” Zenyatta writhed and groaned, tiny needy sounds leaving his voice box, growing louder every time Akande’s tongue pressed down on his sensors. “You are nobody’s, monk… except my own.”

It was weird –Zenyatta was no stranger to small compliments, yet he had never reacted to them like this. Akande set him on fire without even trying, sneaking past his defences until he was left helpless and wanting more. His valve was wet and aching and slick with lubrication already, his prosthetic cock trapped in its latch with nowhere to go, yet stubbornly Zenyatta refused to open his modesty panel.

He still did not wish to yield so easily –he wanted it, so much, but there was still a part of him that enjoyed watching Akande go to such lengths to convince him to let go, and despite how much Zenyatta wished to just _let him_ , giving himself up so easily felt wrong.

He wanted to tell Akande that he did not belong to anyone, even less to him, but Akande did not give him time to answer.

His hand sneaked lower still, brushing past pistons and circuits in his uncovered frame, and dipped through a small opening in his midsection, fingers touching tiny, stretchy wires. The contact made sparkles flicker across his frame in short-lived static flares, and for every one he felt a sudden burst of pleasure crest inside him.

Zenyatta gasped and his synth sang, breathless gasps filling the air around them, his forehead array burning brighter with every small static snap.

Akande did it again, setting forth yet another chain reaction, and Zenyatta seized up and let go of the bed sheets, hands clawing at Akande’s shoulders and shirt, overwhelmed by the pleasure and surprised at its intensity.

All his body felt sensitive, like his entire metal chassis was vibrating and resonating at once, and even the bed sheets underneath him felt hot and stuffy.

“H–” he felt sluggish, shocked at how easily Akande was playing with his body, using it against him when Zenyatta himself could not reach where Akande was touching him. “How–”

Akande did it again, starting up the static bursts inside him, relentless in his actions, and at the same time the hand digging into his back twisted further inside, scraping against more sensors and causing Zenyatta’s voice box to glitch and his cries to turn into broken chirps and whirrs.

He was lost, and all he wanted was to feel _more_ –

“This sight is mine. All of you is mine to take. I can make you sing, my monk, I can make you writhe and _beg_ ,” Akande mouthed down a path across Zenyatta’s neck, tugging delicate wires with his teeth, feeling the vibration of Zenyatta’s gasps against his lips. “And you give me more of those beautiful sounds, offering me such sight as you come undone by my hands alone.”

Zenyatta could feel his core work overtime to compensate the heat that was spreading through his body, his hands wrapped so tightly around Akande’s shirt that the fabric was ready to rip to shreds.

Through the haze of pleasure, he felt Akande’s frame shift on top of him, lifting away from him, and then slowly, the hand on his back moved away, and after the last static waves, so did the hand inside his front circuits.

The sudden lack of stimulation had him gasping, body slumping down on the bed. He had no need to breathe and yet he felt like he needed air, processes running through glitches and missing beats.

Belatedly, he realised he could amp down the sensitivity of his sensors, but as he directed his focus on that, Akande’s hand moved down his pistons, slipping into his pants and caressing a path down the front of his modesty panel, and all thought left Zenyatta’s brain.

He was burning, and he knew Akande could feel the heat radiate from his chassis, but the man said nothing about it, simply smirking down at him, hand splayed across his modesty panel.

“Moan louder, my monk, I want to listen to your cries. You sound so pretty when you gasp, your body arches into mine with a beautiful arc… did you think you could hide your emotions, when your body betrays you so? I can read you well, so _sing_ for me.”

Fingers caressed the edges of his panel, and Zenyatta expected them to slide deeper into his circuits to push it open, but Akande did not –he contented himself with mapping Zenyatta’s lower body, the sensors placed on the curve of his groin area, where his bust met his thighs, the wires that connected his panel, the nodes and the sensitive spots.

Zenyatta shuddered, feeling every small touch and wanting more.

With his other hand, Akande pushed one of his legs to the side, sliding from his thigh up to his bent knee, dug into the back of his knee where some of his wires were visible, and pressed down hard, sending more sparkles of pleasure through him.

“ _Ahh_ –”

He knew where to touch, what to do, and Zenyatta was unable to do anything about it, feeling helpless at the onslaught of pleasure. Akande played him sweetly, and his synth vibrated with moans and loud hums, unable to keep quiet.

He was only vaguely aware of Akande sliding his sash away, but he did feel it when Akande moved off of him, barely, to tug his pants down his legs. Zenyatta should have felt something –self-conscious, embarrassed– but all he felt was anticipation and heat, his fans clicking harder to keep up with his rising temperature.

“I would have you clad in silk,” Akande murmured, voice thick and rumbling, as low as a bass. He paused for a moment, hovering on top of Zenyatta but not pinning him down anymore, and looked at him, licking his lips. “For undressing you is a pleasure, but these clothes are not worth of you. Long sleeves and rich patterns in earth tones, and it would be a sight to take them off you.”

Fingers caressed the sensors around his modesty panel, slowly, deliberately, and Zenyatta choked another gasp as he felt more lubrication coat the insides of his panel, his valve throbbing with need, his prosthetic cock aching to be touched.

He wanted to let it slide open, baring himself to Akande’s eyes, he wanted to feel his fingers drag on his opening and slip inside, he wanted to know how it would feel to be filled and spread open, and he wanted some relief on his cock as well, processes ready and primed, his need so sharp it felt like a blade cutting his circuits in half.

Akande was hot and heavy on top of him, and Zenyatta could see nothing anymore except him, his dark skin covered with a thin layer of sweat, eyes burning with lust, lips parted in a wide, pleased smirk.

The sight, the feeling, even the smell that hit his sensors… all of it was intoxicating. Zenyatta had forgotten how it felt to have someone this close, but he thought it had never been this intense, before.

He’d never been looked at with so much _desire_ , before.

Akande was looking at _him_ , and him alone.

Yet he still resisted, denying himself this as Akande slowly broke him down with pleasure, mapping his body with heated touches.

“Look at you,” Akande’s eyes were dark and narrow, and Zenyatta whirred softly, a chirrup glitch in his voice box that could have passed for a sob. “I have you where I want you, spread open under me, beautiful and ready, and yet you still deny me. My monk, I will not force this on you, but I will not… continue… unless you tell me. Open up to me, my monk –let me bring you pleasure. Let me have _you_. _Let yourself fall._ ”

Again, Akande cupped his modesty panel, though it was so hot to the touch he had to draw back and switch hands, as only his prosthetic one was able to stand such temperature. Metal fingers trailed up and down the panel, watching closely as Zenyatta twitched and bucked up into his touch, yet did not yield.

Akande was amused –even when it was so obvious Zenyatta enjoyed the attention, enjoyed his touches, he still resisted him.

He leaned down, pressing their foreheads together, and Zenyatta gasped out, hands buried in Akande’s shirt. In the dark, his forehead array was burning brightly, casting teal lights all over Akande’s face.

“Let me pleasure you,” he coaxed him, humming as he caressed the edges of Zenyatta’s mouth piece with a thumb. His other hand continued teasing down the edge of his modesty plate. “Let me bring you so much pleasure you touch your God through me.”

Zenyatta’s forehead array powered down for a second, the weak sound that left his synth more of a sob than a gasp.

Akande’s thumb rubbed on the underside of Zenyatta’s modesty panel, and he felt something slick and wet coat his finger, seeping from the edges of the panel, where they connected with his legs.

He moved his hand to his face, using Zenyatta’s forehead array and the pallid light from the moon to observe his thumb, surprised to see it coated with pale teal lubricant.

Shuffling off Zenyatta’s body with a soft, wondering sound, Akande slid down his unresisting body and watched as more lubrication seeped from the edges Zenyatta’s modesty panel, staining the bedcovers with its colour.

He held down Zenyatta by his hips, fingers digging into his cables, tugging at his wires to keep him still, and pressed his lips against the edge of his modesty panel, where the heat was more bearable.

Under him, Zenyatta seized up and his legs tried to close around Akande’s head, but he forced his knees open again with his arms, chuckling as he licked the lubrication away from the scorching hot metal.

“You are so wet for me,” he murmured, oh so pleased. “You want me, yet you still resist…”

“I–”

Akande moved off of him again, leaving him shivering on the bed, and sat in front of him, smirk gone and a serious, intense expression in its place. Zenyatta looked up at him, woozy and confused at the sudden lack of touching, until it clicked what Akande was doing, and a wave of embarrassment rushed through him.

“I told you, my monk. I will not have an unwilling participant, even one whose body sings so prettily under me. I want you, but I will not accept silence, or lies. I can…” Akande licked his thumb absently, tasting the lubrication coating it “… wait. It does not trouble me. I am certain I will have you, if not now, then… soon. But if you wish for this to happen, I demand your word.”

With a soft, incredulous groan, Zenyatta slumped down on the bed.

Part of him was pleased that through all that fog of lust, Akande still sought a willing participant, but what that said about Zenyatta, about his own desires, about the person he chose to indulge them with, he…

“Yield to me, my monk. Let me have you, let me give you pleasure like no one else ever has, until you can only chant my name, until the world burns and I’m the only thing left in your mind–” Zenyatta’s synth made yet another broken, wanton sound “Give yourself to me, _Zenyatta_.”

It was too much –the sound of his name coming from Akande broke the last of Zenyatta’s control.

“Yes.” Zenyatta’s voice was soft, wavering and thick with desire, but he knew what Akande wanted, and what he wanted, so he gave up.

He let himself tumble down, into the precipice.

With a soft click, Zenyatta’s modesty panel slid out of the way, revealing his valve to Akande’s eyes.

Glowing softly, a mix of plush silicon and teal LEDs, Zenyatta’s valve was slick and wet, translucent with lubrication, its folds parted slightly. Above it there was his still sheathed prosthetic cock, also leaking even while still slotted in, and Akande grinned, showing his teeth.

Zenyatta was not looking –he had one arm covering his optical sensors, feeling lightheaded and burning, his fans not working hard enough to keep him cool– but his body was tense, expecting Akande’s touch.

Seconds ticked by, prompting him to move his arm out of the way, only to see Akande hovering above him, staring down at him; when he realised Zenyatta’s attention was on him, Akande licked his lips and brought one hand to trace Zenyatta’s chin in a deceivingly soft touch.

“I am admiring the view,” he said, tone so low it resembled a rumble, “for you are beautiful, and I will enjoy watching you come.”

Zenyatta shuddered, but he knew he’d lost. With a soft, needy sound, he pushed his thighs further apart, spreading himself open even as he bumped up his protocols and his fans spun faster, cooling down his body enough that it would not burn.

“Good,” above him, Akande spoke again, satisfied, “do not deny yourself what you want.”

Akande’s hands touched his thighs and he jumped slightly, but they did not move to where he needed them, instead caressing down nodes and sensors across his thighs and his knees.

Lips found their way down on his frame as well, teasing with small nibbles and kisses, tongue tracing patterns where he could feel it, and Zenyatta covered his face with one hand again, unable to muffle the chirps and hums coming from his voice box.

Forehead array so bright it cast lights across Akande’s body, Zenyatta could not hide, not even from his own desire.

He unlatched his cock and it slid out, exposing itself to Akande’s gaze, black and metal and teal and slick with lubricant.

“Please,” he murmured, and let his head fall back on the mattress, embarrassed yet so close already.

Akande caressed a path down Zenyatta’s open thighs to his front, eyes flickering from the valve to the cock to Zenyatta’s covered face. “Do not hide yourself from me,” he ordered, and Zenyatta obeyed before he could think about it. “You might think you have no expression, yet I can see it plain as the day. Watch me. I want you to _see_ , so you won’t deny who is giving you pleasure.”

His human hand wrapped itself around the base of Zenyatta’s cock, and Zenyatta seized up into him, nails scraping for purchase on the bedcovers. Even that little touch was enough to make him keen, anticipation and build-up having worked him up to the point where even the softest touch was _too much_.

Fingers rubbed at the tip of his cock, teasing the tiny sensors with a thumb, spreading more lubricant everywhere, sliding easily down its shaft in a loose, softened grip. Zenyatta writhed and pushed his hips up, seeking more contact, but Akande refused to give it to him.

His other hand moved to his valve, metallic fingers tracing the edges of his folds, slowly, watching Zenyatta gasp and twitch as more lubricant gushed out, staining his fingers teal. He kept his touches teasing and gentle, torturing Zenyatta with feather caresses, his knuckles pushing barely past his folds but never truly dipping in, just petting and rubbing.

Akande explored at his leisure, one thumb swiping across the width of Zenyatta’s valve to caress the small sensor placed right on top of it, above his entrance, a tiny nub that he nudged with the tip of his finger.

The reaction he got was good enough, as Zenyatta seized and hummed loudly, voice box stuttering as he pleaded him to continue.

“I heard someone say, once, that a warrior’s greatest weapon is… patience,” there was smugness in Akande’s voice, as he’d heard Zenyatta say that while viewing one of his footage battles, and by the way Zenyatta’s hands scraped against the bed as he tried to arch up towards him, fingers digging into the mattress, almost ripping the expensive sheets, he knew Zenyatta recognized his own quote. “Tonight, we have all the time in the world, so you will forgive me if I indulge in the feast I have been so kindly offered, my monk.”

He teased the little nub with small strokes, pulling away every time he felt Zenyatta’s moans turn more desperate, and at the same time rubbed his thumb right under the tip of Zenyatta’s cock, teasing the sensitive wires and nodes underneath the entire shaft.

Zenyatta gasped and choked, his synth humming louder, his valve clenching down on nothing as he felt his anticipation grow with every teasing touch, unable to get any satisfaction or relief, left balancing on the thin edge of a blade.

He had no idea how Akande could know exactly how far to push to deny him, nor how long Akande continued his teasing ministrations, but for Zenyatta it was so easy to lose count of the minutes, lost in the touches, always needing more but always left wanting.

Every time he tried to move, his arms reaching for Akande’s body, the man stopped his torturous caresses, making Zenyatta ache so badly he felt he would burn away, his valve on fire and pleasure thrumming through every inch of his body, in his circuits and wires and every little node.

“Ahhhnn… _ah_ –”

There was a sheen of condensed heat over his chassis, his fans doing their best to keep him cool, vapour coming out in small bursts from the vents over his body, and Akande was in a similar state, his body used to greater temperatures and yet still sweating, though he did not appear bothered by it.

Instead, he continued to talk. As he slid his thumb up and down the underside of Zenyatta’s cock, he murmured soft words of praise. As he rubbed his knuckles across his valve, massaging in slow, circular motions Zenyatta’s nub, he offered him compliments, all in the same low, rumbling tone.

Zenyatta tried to squirm away from both the touches and the words, unable to stand the continuous assault, but Akande was relentless, and he never allowed him to move an inch, wanting him to hear and feel all he had to give him.

He praised his long hands, then his legs, he praised the round, welcoming shapes of his body and how beautiful he looked, spread and open for him to take. He praised the way his back arched up, his thin waist and high-tech parts, and sang compliments about his voice most of all, how it sounded when drowning in pleasure, and Zenyatta responded by moaning louder, embarrassed but at the same time finding himself welcoming them, though he felt they were too much.

The constant stream of compliments, the tone he used, as if they were a given, as if he truly believed Zenyatta to be beautiful, deserving of such praise, all of it made it so easy to just let go.

Akande was heavy on top of him, his body wide and as unmoving as a mountain, but his hands never ceased to  bring him pleasure, and Zenyatta kept grinding back into him even when the touches became too much, seeking out more while also feeling overwhelmed.

It was just so good, too good, how could he not–

He writhed and shook, unable to get what he needed, pleasure a constant without ever being _enough_.

Between Akande’s praise and the soft, teasing touches, he could barely think. His processors flashed warnings about input income, pleasure threatening to overwhelm him, arms and legs shaking and twitching, and even his voice box glitched and broke down, leaving him moaning and groaning as his synth scratched, culled itself and restarted over and over again.

“ _Ah_ –”

There was no break from it, Akande vicious even when giving pleasure, drinking in Zenyatta’s reactions and only wanting more.

Tireless, demanding, Akande would not let him rest.

“How long can you last? I could do this all night, and you would still beg me, morning come, to be filled and taken, over and over…”

Fingers spread apart his folds, rubbing harder against his opening, and Zenyatta’s synth sang as he cried out and he did beg, the ache turning into something close to pain, and yet Akande still refused him, knuckles kneading the silicon and barely brushing against his nub while the hand around his cock tugged the pistons slowly, teasingly, avoiding all the sensors on its underside.

“Oh, but I will be merciful… just this once, I will give you a choice. Will you call my name, my monk? I might give you what you want if you do so… can you?” Akande’s mouth was close to his auricular receptors, sinful and thick, and Zenyatta tried to think past the fog of lust. “If you do, I will give you it all, my monk. Just moan my name, and you will have it.”

He wanted– he needed, he…

“A–” he hiccupped, sobbed louder, moaned so beautifully and arched his back, legs splayed apart, and Akande dragged his fingers across his valve again, thumb sliding wet and easy across the silicon. “Ah…”

Still, Akande did not let him up.

He leaned down, bending easily over Zenyatta’s spread body, and enveloped the head of his cock with his mouth. Big lips parted and mouthed the metallic edge, tongue pressed flat against its surface, licking and sucking on it, and Zenyatta _keened_ , his body shuddering hard and his fingers tearing at the bed sheets, ripping them apart.

“Do you want more, Zenyatta? Then _say my name_.” again, his name coming from Akande’s mouth had its desired effect.

Zenyatta’s hand flew to clamp down on his throat, fingers tight around the wires, and he gasped out, breathless and dizzy, Akande’s name, then again, and again.

It sounded like a prayer, like a blessing, and Akande closed his eyes for a moment, enjoying the sound of it, the way Zenyatta’s voice had vibrated and broke right in the middle.

Another victory, and this one tasted _glorious_.

“Yes, my monk. Moan my name _more_ , call for me, and you will have it _all_.”

He descended on Zenyatta, moving with purpose. He latched his lips on his neck, moving up on metal and pistons, pushing Zenyatta’s head up again to bare the underside of his mouth piece, teeth already tugging at the sensitive wires, even as his fingers slid down Zenyatta’s valve one last time, slow, tantalizing, before slipping inside him.

Zenyatta welcomed him with a sob, hands disentangling themselves from the sheets to wrap around Akande’s shoulders in a tight grip, making him grunt at the strength.

He was so wet and slick with all the lubrication that Akande’s finger slid inside easily, pushing into tight walls and caressing a new set of nodes that was already on fire.

At first, Akande tested the give of Zenyatta’s insides, finger slippery with lubrication, but he couldn’t angle well enough with one so he added another, crooking his fingers and making insistent little rubs around, mapping out where Zenyatta’s sensitive spots were.

Zenyatta clenched tightly around his fingers, enough that it became difficult to move even with how wet he was, but every time a new sensitive patch was discovered and caressed, Akande could feel the ripples of Zenyatta’s pleasure in the way he gasped and trembled, pushing more into his touch, fans cycling and spinning and vents expelling gusts of searing heat into the bed sheets.

“You feel so hot inside,” Akande breathed out between nibbles and kisses “tight around my fingers, like you never want me to leave–”

His fingers pushed inside slowly, caressing every inch they could reach, and Zenyatta strained under Akande, pinned and trapped. He could feel them move, spreading and stretching deep inside him, two and then a third, stuffing him so full, and Zenyatta gasped and clamped down on them, unable to fully process the new sensation. It was almost foreign, forgotten after years of ignoring his needs, and it was…

“– _oh_ –”

He was unprepared for how _good_ it felt, after so much teasing, after Akande’s promises, after their dancing together, and Zenyatta found himself unable to stay quiet.

It felt too good, and when Akande started thrusting his fingers inside him, his other hand snugly curled around his cock, Zenyatta knew he was done for.

Head spinning, Zenyatta heard Akande breathing hard against his neck, but even that sound was washed away by his own cries and by the wet, lewd noise of Akande’s fingers thrusting into him, pace steady and unhurried.

They were so big inside him, warm and wriggling, seeking out every tiny spot to make him scream–

“Does it feel good, my monk?” a hard thrust, Akande’s fingers the only thing he could think about “Your array is so dim, can you hear my voice? Or is it good enough you are lost, unaware of how beautiful you look?”

Again, Zenyatta seized up.

“I seek no expression from your face, when you give me so much with the way you move, desperately wanting more,” Akande murmured, sharp and focused, “when every tiny jolt you make reminds me of how perfect you are, long limbs and shaped angles and–”

It was _coming_ , he could feel it spread from the depths of his valve, and he scrambled to pull at Akande’s shoulders, not sure whether he wanted the man to stop or continue, but desperate to do something, anything, to prepare.

“I– Aka-n––” the sound extended, broke, shattered into static and silence, and he tightened around Akande’s fingers, wanting them to stay, wanting that pleasure to continue, not wanting him to tease further, to deny him this when he was so close, so–

“Come for me, Zenyatta, let me have it…”

Akande’s words were too much.

His processors culled, his body burning, Zenyatta sobbed and dug his fingers into Akande’s shoulders and came.

Another gush of slick lubrication left his oversensitive, full valve as Akande continued to fuck him with his fingers through his orgasm, drinking in the moans and cries as Zenyatta felt his body stretch and tense as he rode the crest of his pleasure, drunk with pleasure and dizzy with it.

It spread in waves through his body, ripples of it returning every time Akande’s fingers pushed into him, over and over, and Zenyatta folded on himself, his front pressed tightly against Akande’s, neck arched up and Akande’s teeth biting down hard on his wires, sending tiny sparkles to his head.

“Ah– aah–”

Oversensitive, Zenyatta racked his fingers down Akande’s back, weakly, when the man continued to thrust his fingers inside him, slowing down but not stopping, their friction sending overloaded input through his sensors.

Jolts of aftershock spread from his valve to the rest of his body, from his head down to the tip of his fingers, and Zenyatta tried without avail to angle away, squirming underneath Akande’s heavy frame, to get a few seconds to try and _think_ , but Akande, relentless in the pursue of what he wanted, did not allow him to move an inch.

It felt so much, but all of it was good, and pleasant, and Zenyatta could not get enough of it even as he wished for a reprise, for a moment to recover, yet still wanting more…

Sensitive nodes, stimulated and abused by the continued attention, flared up again as Akande continued to rub and brush against them, and Zenyatta slumped down on the bed, sluggish and humming, legs twitching.

The hand around his cock moved down to grip its base, fingers massaging the node bundles on its sides, and Zenyatta groaned, weakly pushing into it.

Everything was sharp, alerts flashing past his vision, and Zenyatta wondered, distantly, if he would be able to continue at this pace without his body giving up to reboot.

Even then, he could not deny that he wanted it –he wanted to see how far Akande wanted to push him, and he craved it all.

More, he wanted it and _more_ , he wanted those fingers to never stop, to fuck him into the mattress until he came again, he wanted Akande’s body on top of him, he wanted it _in_ him, with an intensity that his orgasm had only made worse.

 “That was just one,” Akande’s tongue traced a path up from the underside of his mouthpiece to his front, languid and slow, lips sliding across the metal, and Zenyatta vaguely thought that the man sounded too smug. “I want more from you. I want to have you until your systems shut down because of me. I want to _taste_ you, and _fuck_ you, and _own_ you.”

He punctuated every word with a harder thrust, and Zenyatta threw his head back into the mattress, arching up, his neck straining with how far he could bend it, broken static and fragmented cries the only sounds leaving his voice box.

It was too much, too much, _too much_ –the continuous thrusting, the ripples of pleasure that still racked through him, and yet it was _not enough_ , as if one orgasm had not calmed his desire any, as if his body was still on fire for everything Akande could give him…

Zenyatta’s optical sensors failed with one last alert flashing through his head. Everything went dark, and when they restarted, he could only make out the blurry contours of Akande on top of him.

Akande’s fingers stilled inside him, but his thumb slotted itself against the sensitive nub above his valve, pressing down on it in small circles, and Zenyatta’s legs twitched and kicked into the air, thighs clenching against Akande’s sides.

“So sensitive, so beautiful… did you know, my monk, that your array glows white when you come?”

Zenyatta shook his head, fans straining to cool him down. The thumb continued to move against him, rubbing his sensitive nub, constant, relentless, the fingers inside him not moving but still present, reminding him that they were there, a hair width away from starting to stimulate all his inner wiring again.

He wanted Akande to start moving them again, he–

“It is a striking sight, one I would love to see again. I do wonder, if we continue long enough… will you burn golden for me?”

It was hard to disentangle one of his hands from around Akande’s shoulders –his wires felt leaden, and his synapsis were not working properly, making his fingers twitch and shake– but he did, and he brought his hand up to curl around Akande’s throat.

The grip was gentle, as he had not enough control with most of his processes drunk with pleasure and overclocked with input, but it was enough to make Akande focus on his face again, blurry optical sensors meeting dark eyes.

Akande’s pulse quickened underneath his touch, skin damp with perspiration and he looked at him, his grin wide and pleased.

“Still there is fight within you. That pleases me the most.”

Without warning, Akande’s fingers slipped out of him, and the weight pinning him down eased a little as Akande shuffled back on the bed, leaving Zenyatta sprawled on the mattress, thighs spread open and arms abandoned at his sides.

Akande sat up and observed the mess between Zenyatta’s legs with clear fascination, observing the way his valve glowed softly in the dark, his hand slick and wet with lubrication up to the wrist.

His own crotch and Zenyatta’s thighs were just as stained, the wet patch visible even in such dim light.

Akande hummed, pleased, and brought his hand to his mouth, licking a trail up from his wrist to the tip of his fingers.

Zenyatta trembled and tried to hoist himself up on his elbows, not ashamed at how wrecked he surely looked but suddenly aware of what would soon come, anticipation curling around his core.

He could have used these few precious seconds to restart some of his processes, ease the weight on the remaining working ones, started a cleaning cycle, but his optical sensors were zooming on Akande’s mouth, stained with teal as he tasted more of his slick, full lips tilted upwards in a grin as his tongue licked his fingers once more before wiping the mess carelessly over his shirt, to think about anything else.

With a swift move, Akande removed his shirt, revealing a well sculpted chest, and Zenyatta admired it for a second before his attention was diverted to the bandages, stained with dried up blood, on his midsection, and then to the spot where the skin of his shoulder met the metal of Akande’s prosthetic arm.

Akande looked down, and paused to tug the bandages away, revealing smooth skin, not a trace of a wound or a scar anywhere in sight.

“You have bestowed upon me the touch of your God,” Akande hummed, the inflection in his tone making Zenyatta attempt to focus on his expression. “It is… impressive. How far can you heal without embracing it fully? To what extent can you heal a wound?” then he shook his head, shoulders shaking in mirth. “I apologize. It is bad form to leave you… wanting.”

Zenyatta’s voice box made a soft, glitch-like sound.

There was still an ache in him that his orgasm had not calmed down in the least, a craving, so strong since Akande’s fingers were not inside him to soothe it anymore, and Zenyatta chose to focus on this desire instead of on Akande’s falter, on his softer expression that lingered only a second more before it refocused on him.

There was no mistaking the bulge in Akande’s pants, and when deft fingers pulled the zipper down and slid the pants down muscular legs, uncovering more of his dark skin, Zenyatta’s attention remained on the pleasing sight, hard curves and perspiration making his skin glisten. Then he moved to admire Akande’s cock, hard and exposed as pants and underwear were pulled out of the way, carelessly dropped on the floor next to the bed.

“See something you like, my monk?” Akande had no shyness about his body, flexing the muscles in his arms as he advanced towards Zenyatta on all four, until he was once again on top of him. “Do you want it? Do you want _me_?”

Zenyatta attempted to make a small, scoffing sound –considering the situation, Akande’s ego did not need further proof that Zenyatta desired him, not when he looked so smug and pleased already– but his voice box was still glitching, so what came out was a short, high-pitched modulation.

It startled a laugh out of Akande, who pressed one hand on Zenyatta’s chest, forcing him down on the bed.

“Stay down and let me indulge, my monk, in bringing you pleasure. I wish to worship you, and watch you come again, and again. Let me hear you moan, though –broken, raspy, static… let me hear it all, so I know that I am doing well.”

Zenyatta’s forehead array flickered off for a moment then Zenyatta bared himself, spreading his legs to let Akande slot between them, their bodies flush together.

There were no words needed, no plausible deniability to invoke –Zenyatta wanted this, and it mattered none where one hailed or that they were on opposite sides. All that mattered was–

The head of Akande’s cock, bigger and thicker than his fingers, rubbed against the folds of his valve.

Zenyatta gasped, grinding up into it, but Akande did not push inside, instead dragging two fingers to rub again against him, collecting some of the lubrication that was still gushing from him and using it to slick his own cock.

“Do you enjoy this, my monk?” rumbling, low, Akande leaned forwards, their faces so close Zenyatta’s optical receptors could see him in focus despite the blurriness of his failed processors. “Watching me getting ready for you?”

Zenyatta moved both of his hands down between his legs, fingers shaking still, and dragged one down across his valve to slick it up before he moved to Akande’s cock, his sensors registering how it twitched in his grip.

Akande stiffened, pushing into his slackened hold with his hips, always grinning. “I see,” he murmured. “I will allow that.”

Zenyatta’s hand moved to rub the tender, tense skin at the tip of his cock, his palm wide enough to circle around its girth to tug it, though it did not quite slide as easily as Akande’s fingers had inside of him.

It was… big, hard and fully erect, not lubricated enough but Zenyatta was still so wet inside and more than ready, and the idea of a little burn only made it better.

He wanted it –he wanted Akande to move, to pin him down again and take him. He wanted the man to hold faithful to his promises and fuck him, and the ache in his valve flared up, needy and throbbing, at that thought.

Just thinking about having Akande inside him had Zenyatta’s shoulders tremble, and he tightened his grip on Akande’s cock, fingers coaxing, rubbing its sides, moving down to the base, until Akande grunted and one of his hands came to wrap around Zenyatta’s throat, thumb nudging the tiny wires underneath his mouth piece.

His voice was more of a hiss now. “Grip it any tighter, and I will have you right now, even if you are not yet ready to receive me.”

Optical receptors tilted up to meet Akande’s eyes squarely, though they tried without avail to zoom and focus on them, and Zenyatta jutted out his jaw, unable to express his challenge vocally or with his expression and having to settle to body language instead.

The slow, expectant stretch of Akande’s lips was all Zenyatta had as an answer before a pair of big, strong hands pushed him fully down against the mattress.

It took Akande only a fraction of a second to pin him there, Zenyatta’s arms trapped above his head, wrists held tightly in one of Akande’s hands, but Zenyatta went willingly, Akande’s other hand still wrapped around his throat.

“You _did_ ask for it, my monk.”

Zenyatta parted his legs further, feeling Akande drag his cock, invitingly, over his valve.

It rubbed deliciously against his sensor nub, teasing, messy, slick and wet, and then Akande canted his hips and _pushed_ and the tip of his cock finally found his entrance.

He had expected it would be difficult –Akande was well endowed and though Zenyatta was wet and ready, he still could not stretch naturally more than his build could afford, and yet…

Akande’s cock pushed inside, but he mercifully went in slowly, testing Zenyatta’s give. The tip wasn’t much, but it kept coming, stretching him wider than his fingers had before, rubbing against all the sensors inside him, and Zenyatta twitched and whined at the sensation, having expected the burn and enjoying it far more than he had thought he would.

The speed only made it worse, though –Akande inched inside then stopped only to move again, one inch at a time, then back out again only to push inside once more.

He was teasing him again, giving him what he wanted only to retreat, stretching him and backing away.

He knew he would be sore, as the sensors covering his valve were sturdy but still sensitive enough to hurt, and Akande was not going to go easy on him, not when Zenyatta had prodded him, but he welcomed the sensation, pleasure tinged with the slightest amount of pain, a perfect balance.

Zenyatta arched upwards, attempting to take Akande in faster, but he was denied, the delicious burn ceasing again even as Zenyatta tried to get him to move again.

“My pace, my rules,” Akande’s voice penetrated the thick fog of need in Zenyatta’s brain processes, but he did not sound displeased –in fact, he was grinning, teeth bared. “Patience, my monk.”

Slow, so slow it did nothing to calm his need, Akande continued to push inside him, filling him up inch by inch, big and thick and hot, and Zenyatta welcomed him with loud chirps and whirrs, uncaring to sound too needy, composure broken the more he was filled up until there was no more to give.

It felt heavenly, and with the way Akande’s thumb was rubbing at the sensors under his throat, his other hand massaging his wrists, coaxing him to relax, Zenyatta could barely keep his body from trembling constantly, wanting, wanting, _wanting_ more than ever for Akande to start moving.

He tried to free his arms, wishing he could drag Akande closer, force him to _do something_ , but the grip on his wrists was steely, and Akande still did not move, breathing hard and keeping still.

Maybe Zenyatta was the one spread open and full and burning and _aching_ , but…

“You are tight, my monk, so very tight,” there was a breathless, raw quality in Akande’s voice now that betrayed he was not as unaffected as he looked.

He was so full he felt he would burst, his valve stretched to a pleasant soreness, and every time Akande twitched or breathed, Zenyatta’s inner wiring and sensors received a jolt of pleasure, but the thought of Akande trying so hard to look collected, when instead he was far from that…

It pleased him.

That man could act like he was always in control, but Zenyatta had felt his aura, and knew there was a maelstrom behind his collected exterior.

Part of him wished, recklessly, to see that control shatter, but it was a part that was easy to forget, now, with Akande inside of him and above him and wrapped around him, holding him down.

Still there was one thing Zenyatta could do, so he did it –he clenched down on Akande’s cock, and his fans cycled harder and faster as Akande twitched and jolted at the sensation, stimulating all his inner sensors deliciously.

He had no need to breathe, and yet all his processors buzzing and humming and whirring sounded like he was gasping for air, small chirps and beeps coming out from his abused voice box, but the sight of Akande gritting his teeth above him, sweat rolling down his brow, was worth it.

“It feels heavenly to be inside you, hot and tight, but you are vicious in your need, my monk,” Akande grunted through bared teeth. The hand holding Zenyatta’s neck  shook a little but did not let go of him. “Will you burn me alive, if I don’t give you what you want?” his hips moved a little, grinding in small circles, and Zenyatta seized up and moaned, fingers curling on themselves and legs folding at Akande’s sides.

It was good –his sensors were receiving the continuous pressure of Akande’s cock, not a single one of them untouched, and to be stuffed so full, where even a little movement could make him break…

He… he…

Akande’s eyes, mesmerized, fixed on Zenyatta’s forehead as his array started blinking, its colour fading from dark teal into a paler shade, and his shoulders started to shake as he felt a chuckle burn its way through his chest.

“Oh, yes, my monk. Let yourself go. _Feel me_.”

At first, his movements were nothing more than a slow grinding, but they were enough to set Zenyatta moaning already, small bursts of sound leaving his abused synth, then Akande started to thrust, not too hard but enough that Zenyatta keened and arched up to him, metal joints glinting under the light of his array, the glow of his valve and the pale light of the moon outside.

Akande hummed, lips parted to breathe hard, “So beautiful, coming apart for me…”

He shifted, the prosthetic hand at Zenyatta’s throat moving down his chest and then caressing down his side, fingers touching his pistons and circuits before squeezing between Zenyatta and the mattress, digging once again past the visible wires on his back to reach for the sensors hidden beneath them.

With practiced ease, Akande flicked static at them, and pleasure burst through Zenyatta’s body, adding to the burn he felt every time Akande fucked into him, hard and deep.

Zenyatta seized up again, his synth crackling and chirping loudly, arms tugging uselessly to get free, but Akande had no intention to let him go, watching the beautiful arcs his body made as he writhed and sobbed, with nowhere else to go.

There was no expression on his facial plate, yet his enjoyment was obvious and apparent, and so very _pleasing_.

Zenyatta wondered, distantly, if he would be split in two –the constant pleasure coming from his valve being pounded into and stimulated battling against the sharper, violent pleasure from his back sensors, and he had no idea which one would break him first.

It felt like his body was being stretched and pulled, pleasure assaulting him and scattering away his thoughts under the constant feedback and input.

Akande pushed his hips harder, forcing Zenyatta deeper into the mattress, grinding down against him then pulling back, then back in, and even he could not stop the soft grunts leaving his lips, small sounds of pleasure quickly cut off by him biting down on his lower lip, silencing himself and only letting a few short, unsteady hums pass through.

Zenyatta had no such compunction –vocal, loud and unabashed, he kept trying to scream, though all his noises were just stuttered static and white noise feedback.

Every now and then a louder chirp broke through, moans and groans and gasps recognizable enough in the middle of all his metallic, mechanic noises, growing in intensity as Akande fucked him, slow and steady.

“Ah– hhhhhh… a–a–––a–”

Dizzying and impossibly good, Zenyatta felt Akande’s pace pick up yet again as more lubrication gushed out, making his movements smoother though he still fit tightly inside him.

Pleasure was a constant and so was the flicker of pain whenever Akande angled himself a little too much, stretching him too much, and every time it happened Zenyatta clenched down hard around him.

He wanted to scream, to beg Akande to fuck him even harder, but there were no words and all thoughts slipped past his fingers, washed away by pleasure.

Akande kept his pace even, steady, mixing harder thrusts with grinding and rubbing the sensors in the back of Zenyatta’s spine, his lower stomach the only friction he allowed against the curve of Zenyatta’s dick, heavy and leaking between them.

The silicon was glistening with lubrication, pistons slick and surface aching to be touched, and yet Akande ignored it, though he was aware of the situation as every now and then he shifted on top of Zenyatta, canting his hips so his stomach could brush against its length.

Almost folded in two underneath his body, Zenyatta ached and arched his back. It felt so good, his valve so full and burning, but his cock was aching and untouched, and no matter what he did, tugging Akande closer with his legs, arching up to meet his thrusts, wriggling in place… nothing helped the ache.

If not for the constant teasing brushes, Zenyatta would have gone mad, but each casual touch made him hope that maybe, soon, Akande would give him what he needed.

Unfortunately he had underestimated Akande’s stamina, and how far he wished to push him.

Every time he felt himself getting closer, the heat coiling into a tight knot inside him to a point where he could not ignore it, body straining to follow Akande’s movements, Akande startled him with a harsh, sudden tug at the wires on his back.

It sent a jolt down his back, not real pain but an edge of it, enough to dispel the haze of his pleasure and chase away his incoming climax.

Denied yet again, Zenyatta could only gasp and writhe and wait for the shocks to end, his entire body thrumming with unresolved need.

It was frustrating, it was almost painful, it was maddening, like a constant cycle, and it was–

Pleasure was like a constant tension inside his body, threatening to burst, to snap and crash into him, and yet it never happened, and every time his mind cleared from the haze, only to start rushing up towards climax again, Zenyatta could only let himself _feel it_.

Above him, the blurry image of Akande’s intense face was his everything, lips stretched into a grin, sweat rolling down his brow, muscles tense and bulging as Akande pushed harder into him, controlling, always controlling, teasing and goading him with pleasure until he was shaking and sobbing, and then denying him, in a torturous cycle that continued on and on without an end.

His valve was full and overstimulated, burning and aching, sensors flaring continuously, the heat sending a buzz down his legs and arms and up his chest, muddling his thoughts.

His head felt heavy like lead, his sight swimming and blurred, but all he could focus on was how good it felt, and how he did not want Akande to stop.

It did not matter if he was denied, if he could feel himself ready to break, on the edge of something huge without ever tipping off –it was worth it, for the soft grunts coming from Akande’s mouth, for the way his body felt on top of him, heavy and solid, anchoring him in the sea of dizzying pleasure, to the soft warmth he could feel approaching, like an incoming tide, that he could not stop.

Like the beat of a heart –like the beat of Akande’s heart, thrumming where their bodies met, deep into Zenyatta’s valve– Zenyatta felt himself fall back, consciousness receding slightly, overwhelmed and slipping…

 “Such marvellous sight,” shaky, rough and deep, Akande’s voice surrounded him like a blanket. “I did say… you would burn golden for me, my monk.”

Zenyatta wanted to scream, not even aware that his forehead array had turned white, then glowing a soft, warm gold as pleasure grew inside him without ceasing, too busy riding it to think about anything else but that –he wanted to beg, he wanted _more_ …

The hand digging into his back moved away, giving him reprise from the jolts of pleasure, but Zenyatta had no time to focus on it because he felt it wrap around his neglected cock, unexpected and tight and working on it with the same pace of Akande’s thrusts, fingers digging into his shaft, tugging and pulling and…

 _‘Please’_ he wanted to scream, synch singing and broken and static, _‘please, let me, let me, let me–’_

“Do you want to come?” like silk, Akande’s voice soothed his frantic mind, and the hand around his wrists shifted his arms higher, stretching him as much as his spine could go, his body tingling and sore and sluggish, fingers twitching around thin air without anything to hold onto, “I want you to. I want you to come, my monk, singing and beautiful as I fuck you through it. Are you ready for it?”

Zenyatta’s synth cracked and he cried out, begged without words, frantic and needy, writhing and squirming, on fire and burning and tense and it was–

There was no jolt of pain to stop it, just pleasure, Akande’s hand warm on his length and his cock fucking deep into him, relentless, each thrust making the bed quake and squeak, and Zenyatta felt it coming, spreading inside him, and please, please let it, _let it_ –

His optical receptors failed, the last warning flashing red through his vision before everything went dark once again, and then–

The world burned golden, bright and vibrant and absolute.

Zenyatta arched up and came, warmth spreading through his body, liquid heat that vibrated into every piston and circuit and wire in his frame, touching Akande through his prosthetics, making his thrusts falter as he felt the brunt of the Iris’ power wash through him.

With Zenyatta’s valve clenching down hard on him, and the same warmth he’d felt before when Zenyatta had healed him, only stronger, washing through him like sunshine, Akande grunted and his shoulders shook with the effort it took for him not to come.

He watched, in awe, as the golden light unfolded from the depths of Zenyatta’s body, shimmering hands materializing from thin air, stretching out in a halo around Zenyatta’s frame, tangible and real, pushing his body up and away from the mattress.

Hands that did not exist until then curled around Akande’s shoulders, tugged him closer, their touch warm and soft and gentle, like spring breeze, full of promise, and other hands held down on the bed sheets, and yet another pair of hands slid down Akande’s spine, metallic yet buzzing with life, to grab on his lower back, on his ass, holding him in place, deep inside Zenyatta, trapping him there as Zenyatta climaxed hard around his cock and all over their stomachs, lubrication staining them both in a sudden, messy gush.

Akande watched, mesmerized, the otherworldly gold surrounding them, seeping into his body and soothing fatigue and aches he hadn’t even realised he felt until then, licks of light illuminating the entire room like sunlight, like a blessing, like a miracle.

Zenyatta’s entire metal body was aflame, and the light was coming from inside him and inside his chassis, and it would have been an even better sight if he wasn’t so tight around Akande that he could feel himself slipping, shocks of pleasure ripping gasps out of his lips that he’d so well concealed before, but was so much harder to hide now that he could feel his connection to Zenyatta amplified through his augmentations.

His arm that was prosthetic vibrated and slipped away from Zenyatta’s cock, the metal tingling as if it was human skin again, sensitive on every inch of it, and all of Akande’s body sang in tune with Zenyatta’s climax in a chorus even _he_ could not deny.

He had wished to prolong this, make Zenyatta come at least once more, take him against the wall, perhaps, drag it on for longer, but…

Gritting his teeth, Akande laughed, breathless and in awe and amused, and in the end Zenyatta did get what he’d wanted, though he was barely aware, through his own pleasure and the afterglow of his transcendent orgasm, of Akande thrusting harder into him, abandoning his composure for a split moment to pursue his own finish.

Golden bathed them both as Akande cradled Zenyatta’s neck up with his hand, pressed their foreheads together, and fucked him hard, thrusting his hips down guided by translucent arms.

Zenyatta’s cries suddenly scraping themselves back into sound as Transcendence healed his voice box, and without warning Akande was treated to a messy, loud stream of pleas intermixed with his own name chanted over and over, Zenyatta’s voice deeper and vibrating right through him and through his cock.

It was enough.

Akande climaxed with his eyes wide open to drink into the last droplets of Transcendence as it faded out, Zenyatta’s orgasm twitching and ending after what felt like forever, aftershocks of pleasure and loud, breathless gasps, and Akande grunted and leaned down, nesting his face in the crook of Zenyatta’s bared neck to bite down hard on his pistons, leaving behind yet another set of teeth-shaped dents, shallowly thrusting into him and riding out his own orgasm.

Slowly, the golden glow faded away.

The hands that had been holding on Akande’s body melted away into thin air, leaving behind only the impression of touch, and the warmth of the Iris like a welcoming caress.

Akande slumped down over Zenyatta’s body, panting hard, teeth still clamped down on his pistons, and he could hear the rumbling sound of Zenyatta’s core whirring against his chest, and his fans stabilizing and slowing down.

Satisfied and languid, Akande moved enough that he could reach the tiny wires under Zenyatta’s neck, pressing his lips against them, and Zenyatta moaned, loud and unabashed.

“You are quite the insistent lover, my monk,” he breathed, low and quiet and so, so very pleased. “Taking all I could give, and more.”

Sluggish and sore, Zenyatta attempted to work through the haze in his brain, processors reconnecting and sorting through the afterglow, registering the heavy weight of Akande on top of him and still inside of him.

He did not trust himself to speak, but he allowed himself a few seconds just to analyse his body and catalogue how he felt, pleasure still a buzz in the back of his mind, made sweeter by his abrupt connection with the Iris.

Even Akande’s body over him felt good, the heat that had driven him to beg and plead now sated and simmering, though Zenyatta still shivered, minutely, with every shift of Akande over him, since he was still lodged inside his valve, and his sensors were sore and overstimulated.

Akande’s hand moved away from his wrists, slowly, and Zenyatta felt it slide down his arms, caressing his shoulders, before settling around his neck, fingers rubbing teasing caresses on the small bundle of wires on the back of his head.

It was… almost soft, gentle, a different kind of intimacy than the one they had just shared with one another, but Zenyatta was too tired and dizzy to focus too much on such thoughts.

For a few minutes, neither spoke.

Zenyatta could have had all the time in the world to think about the situation, let his doubts and thoughts rush back in, but the warmth of the Iris had cleansed his soul, chasing away everything but the pleasure and its aftermath, and he had nothing else to focus on but that.

“I would like to see you ride me, one day,” Akande’s words penetrated the tired haze of his brain enough that Zenyatta was startled out of his afterglow, fans whirring a little louder at the suggestion. “That would be a view worth seeing.” His other hand moved down to touch where they were still joined, fingers sliding easily over the mess of lubrication Zenyatta had left on both of their fronts. “As was the one I was gifted just now. You do look so beautiful when you come, but I had not… expected… that your God would make you into such striking beauty.”

Zenyatta let out a soft, tired sigh, the words sounding somewhat bitter to his auricular receptors.

He had no time to think about them, though, because Akande lifted his hips and his cock slipped out of him with a wet, lewd sound, leaving Zenyatta feeling empty and sore.

“We made quite the mess,” he murmured, voice still unsure and corrupted. He’d have to run a repair cycle during his sleep.

“It was quite the pleasant mess,” Akande agreed, languid and pleased and smug. “But allow me to offer to clean you up.”

Lips stretching into a smile, Akande pressed one single kiss against Zenyatta’s mouth piece, startling him, before he moved down, inch by inch, until he was facing Zenyatta’s valve. It took only a second to understand what he meant, and in that second Akande had already pushed Zenyatta’s thighs apart and his knees over his shoulders.

“That is not necess–” the first press of Akande’s mouth on the soaked expanse of Zenyatta’s visible circuits had him stutter and shut up, a warm tongue lapping at the teal lubrication coating every inch of his front. “… _oh_ –”

Zenyatta watched, transfixed, as one of the strongest, ruthless, richest men on the world, leader of an organization that spread far and wide across the globe, knelt in front of him and licked him clean, humming pleasantly and devoting as much of his time as possible to mouth the underside of Zenyatta’s spent cock, and the edges around his valve.

“A… again?” almost incredulous, Zenyatta was not sure whether he’d asked this to Akande or himself, feeling the stir of a familiar heat inside his core.

Akande looked up, hungry, pleased and surrounded by waves of lust. “Again, my monk. I haven’t had enough of you, yet.”

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And with this, the fic is finished. I would like to say thank you to all the kind reviewers here and to those who liked n reblogged n tagged nice things on tumblr. I had a lot of fun doing this project even if it went on for longer than expected, so I hope you also liked it to the end!
> 
> there will eventually be more, but if ur interested on when it is gon happen there's a poll here https://strawpoll.com/39df5da9 so you can vote on what you'd like to see me write next :)
> 
> the doomyatta is listed as an option as well as some other fics. they will all get written but the poll ensures the first three get written first.

**Chapter 05**

 

The first thing Zenyatta saw when he came to was the morning light washing over him, the sun bathing him from the open window, warm and pleasant on his chassis.

The mattress was soft under him, and he was lying on the side, facing the window, with a blanket covering him up to his midsection, leaving his chest and visible circuits uncovered.

Zenyatta’s processors came online slowly, haltingly, as if recovering, and it took him a few seconds to access data files from the previous night and recall what had happened, and once he did, his servos tightened and tensed up.

Seconds ticked by, and then Zenyatta slowly relaxed back on the mattress, running diagnostics over himself, cataloguing the soreness in his limbs, heavy and humming, the lethargic feeling that washed over him.

His body felt tired and heavy, but in a pleasant way, his frame thrumming and his battery replenished. He stretched his legs slowly, testing his processors and the connectors, and he felt a dull ache coming from underneath his modesty panel that part of his brain welcomed, pleased and lazy.

He felt… well, there was no way to express that feeling if not with ‘well fucked’, and that was the truth.

Testing his soreness, Zenyatta shifted on the mattress, curling his fingers around the sheets covering him, clearing his voice box and humming.

Everything seemed to work correctly, even after his synth had crashed and broken down a second time last night, even after fixing itself through Transcendence.

Zenyatta sighed again, pleased that his system had repaired itself fully overnight.

He knew he would have to face the consequences of his act now –he had avoided thinking about them the previous night, accepting his attraction to Akande, giving in willingly and enjoying himself– but that had been yesterday.

Today, Zenyatta would have to get up and think about what he was going to do, and if his lapse of judgement changed things.

He stretched his legs and hit something big and somewhat soft with the back of one foot, which made him freeze.

Slowly, he twisted his neck and shuffled around, and found himself staring right into Akande’s eyes; the man was laying on his side staring at him, propped up on one elbow, and when he noticed Zenyatta had woken up, Zenyatta was treated to the sight of a lazy, pleased stretch of his full lips into a grin.

“Good morning.”

Zenyatta froze, thought processes halting for a second.

He had… not expected Akande to be there.

The man had gotten what he wanted –he had lured Zenyatta in, and he had willingly capitulated. His valve still ached, sore and overstimulated, and he could still remember, vivid and hot, each orgasm Akande had given him, until at one point he’d lost consciousness, system overclocking and overwhelmed with input.

That… looking back, Zenyatta had expected Akande to lose interest, afterwards. Had perhaps counted on it.

A passing fancy, for a man who only sought to conquer.

In a way, Akande’s praise for the Iris’ glow had sounded like such confirmation, in the end. The lust and desire and interest Akande had showed existed, and Zenyatta had the marks on his body as proof of it, but he had still expected, the next day, that they would matter none, and that once acquired what he sought to get, Akande would direct his focus elsewhere.

It was the obvious conclusion, it would have reassured Zenyatta and given him time to recover and think about how to get free without his impulsive desire for the man clouding his senses.

The presence of Akande in the bed with him, the fact that he had been staring at him as he cycled through sleep…

“I assumed you would wish to sleep longer, as I have tired you last night,” Akande murmured, voice low and rumbling, and Zenyatta numbly wondered if his voice would always send a shiver down his back, now.

Zenyatta chose not to open himself up to test Akande’s aura, recognising the look in the man’s eyes for what it was. He would need to reassess the situation now –Akande’s interest in him seemed just as strong as it had been until then.

He was startled out of his thoughts when Akande shifted closer, prosthetic hand coming to rest on Zenyatta’s shoulder, tugging him closer before sliding up slowly past his shoulder blades and to the pistons on his neck, caressing the marks he’d left there with his teeth.

It was a deceivingly soft touch, and Zenyatta was once again taken aback as Akande leaned forwards, slowly, to trace the seam of his mouth piece with his lips, before pressing an open mouthed kiss against the junction of his neck.

“I–” Zenyatta’s voice failed him, fatigue and confusion making his thoughts flutter.

The thumb against his throat slid up, rubbing at the tiny wires under his throat, and the motion made Zenyatta shiver.

“You were quite the sight, sleeping on my bed,” Akande murmured. It was unfair how even now his voice could make Zenyatta’s core stutter. “Though I very much prefer you when awake, I did not wish to disturb your rest.”

There was the same look in Akande’s eyes that Zenyatta had seen the previous night, but in plain daylight it felt worse, perhaps –sharper, not hidden by darkness– and Zenyatta felt heat coil in the pit of his mechanics, and its intensity once again upset him.

Dangerous.

Zenyatta pulled away from the touch, disentangling himself from Akande and shuffling to the other edge of the bed, standing up. He had allowed himself to fall, tumble down without thought, but that was then.

Traitorous body, he thought. Was not four times enough?

It should have been enough, and not just that –he did not think he’d recovered enough to try anything else this soon, either.

“I do not intend to indulge in anything you might wish to attempt,” he said, and thought he had managed to convey his refusal well enough for someone who could barely stand, legs shaky under his full weight.

Akande did not appear upset or disappointed, but his eyes did move up and down Zenyatta’s body, making a clear show of appreciating the sight.

“Is that so? I have to admit I might have been rather… greedy, last night. My apologies. I will attempt to not be as demanding, next time, though… you _did_ seem just as involved as I was.”

There was enough confidence in Akande’s tone about a ‘next time’ that Zenyatta felt some of the heat recede, replaced with steel determination.

“Then I feel you shall have to wait for a long time. Last night was…” he hesitated, not wishing to fall into yet another trap through his own words. A mistake, he wished to say, though a delicious, self-indulgent one, but the words did not wish to come out. “A lapse in judgement on my part. I do not deny my involvement, but that changes nothing.” He crossed his fingers together in front of himself, warding Akande off.

Akande’s laughter once again took Zenyatta by surprise.

Such a pleasing sound, rich and almost happy, but it sent a sliver of annoyance down his back, as it meant his attempts to oppose the man had failed yet again.

“Such harsh words, my monk. Yet you long for my touch today just as much as you did yesterday. If you wish to play, I will indulge you, though I know it is only a matter of time, for I know I will eventually have you where you should be.”

Zenyatta hummed, displeased. “You have had me already, is that not enough to sate your craving?”

As abruptly as it had started, Akande’s laughter ceased, and his expression turned darker, intent.

Where he had been laying on the bed before, not moving even as Zenyatta had left the bed, now he sat up, exposing his upper body and the edge of his thighs as he did so. Zenyatta’s optical receptors flickered to that spot for a moment before he forced them upwards again.

“I see you once again choose to deny me, monk.” Zenyatta had no idea why his words had finally cracked Akande’s pleasant attitude, but they had. The twist of his lips and the way his shoulders tensed up indicated his mood drop, and when Zenyatta dared to open himself up to read the man’s aura, he caught the feeling of a looming anger clouding everything else. “I will not have my intentions cheapened such as this… I thought I made it obvious where my interest is.”

His eyes were sharp, and his words sharper. Zenyatta stiffened, and shook his head.

“I have already made my position on the matter clear. I will not allow the Iris to be used by Talon. As for the rest, it was not a situation that will happen again. Attraction or not, that is not important.” There was no need to deny it, not when there was enough proof of it, but it meant nothing.

Akande grunted, bringing one hand up to rub at the bridge of his nose. He stood up, and Zenyatta found himself staring down at his naked body in all his glory. Akande was not shy, and he casually walked around the bed, stopping right in front of Zenyatta.

Even naked, even with a normal prosthetic instead of a weapon, he was imposing enough that Zenyatta felt a sliver of tension in the back of his wires.

Again, Akande leaned forwards, both hands cupping his chin, tugging him closer.

“I see it is far easier to allow your humble self to take control, than to believe yourself important enough to have someone’s attention, let alone that of one you are also attracted to.” There was still no smile on Akande’s face, just an intense look. No amusement, no lust. Just… “I would not allow myself such open interest, if the one I was looking at was not special to my eyes. I said you belong to me, and I meant it. Though your appearance is appealing, it is not just that single thing keeping my interest. I found you, monk, and I plan to keep you, but I do not offer a trade without returning something of equal price.”

Their foreheads were pressed together, Zenyatta’s array LED pale and fluttery, Akande’s eyes dark and deep.

“Your place is at my side, monk. That is where I want you to be. At the top, as we lead the world to change as it should. I will not accept anything else, but I am willing to wait. Do not mistake my interest for shallow, weak fancies. I will have all of you, just as I have had you last night. You will sing for me again, and face the truth of my words, even if it will take you some time to come to terms with it. I do not mind. You are worth the wait.”

Zenyatta felt Akande’s lips press down on the seam of his mouth piece, soft and warm.

“I am a man with little attention to spare for useless things. I chose you, and it is you that I want, but I have myself to offer back.”

For a short, dizzying moment, Zenyatta felt balanced on the sharp end of a blade.

Akande’s words implied something bigger, that Zenyatta had not even considered in his thoughts. He’d still believed, even when faced with his interest, that it would be fleeting, momentary, and even now that he’d been proven wrong, he’d still thought Akande would be in it just for… well.

Again, Zenyatta was proven wrong, and this time it felt worse. He was left hanging again, uncertainty his only company, as he stared into the depths of Akande’s eyes and got a peek into his soul.

Perhaps, Zenyatta’s decision to allow himself to fall ended up making the situation worse, indulging his own interest had made Akande aware that it existed, and that Zenyatta could be tempted, and that he could continue in his pursue of…

And yet.

Zenyatta was a pragmatic person. What had attracted him to Akande, other than his presence, was his mind. The way he could spin words, his beliefs, albeit wrong, were still reasoned and thought out.

Such sharp mind, such conviction… Zenyatta ached to aid him, reach out to make sure he could no longer walk upon a path of destruction, one that would end up eventually sinking him just as much as the world around him.

Akande would benefit more of a change of mind himself rather than attempting to make someone like Zenyatta change their own.

Was there any use into thinking this, though?

Zenyatta knew his own path was as secure and stable as he wished it to be, the Iris guiding him through with a steady touch, but was a person like Akande also steady enough to refute change, if change came directly at him?

He did not know.

Akande was a mystery, an alluring, enticing prospect. Zenyatta wanted to know more about him, just as Akande had wished to know more about Zenyatta himself. Whether this would be a good idea, to let himself fall deeper by his own choice, he did not know.

In that instant, though, Zenyatta did understand something –he had ceased to feel pressured while in the presence of Akande.

Something had shifted between them. if that was due to their tumble in bed, or Akande’s confession, or due to Zenyatta’s thoughts… he did not know. All he knew was that as he stared into Akande’s eyes, their bodies almost pressed together in the middle of the room, Zenyatta felt like he had regained his lost balance.

 “You will be free to leave.”

Akande let go of Zenyatta’s face, thumb caressing the curve of his face plate before doing so, and Zenyatta wobbled backwards, surprised at the non sequitur and even more so at the words.

“… leave? Is there a catch?”

Akande snorted.

“Keeping you here now would only be detrimental. We have reached an understanding, but you are not yet ready to see things my way. You understand that the way things are now is wrong. The world needs drastic change, and when no one brings it, things stagnate. I will bring that change myself, and see it through.”

“I have walked my path for many years, and I have yet to change my mind. I do not see why you holding me in captivity for a week would lessen the strength of my convictions. Surely you do not think your… actions speak with enough determination to convince me otherwise?” Zenyatta took a step back, levelling Akande with a look. “The world changes at its own pace. Binging forth chaos only causes balance to falter. Destabilization of structures without thought does not bring to a better end, it only makes it harder to stand back up, afterwards. Change is forthcoming, and sorely needed, but it has to exist without annihilation.”

“Perhaps annihilation is the sole true solution to a troubled world.”

“Or perhaps, nothing can grow where before there has been a fallout.” Zenyatta thought back, about the Australian explosion news flashing on every television, about the devastation brought forwards by men with wrong ideals, and his resolve hardened.

Akande did not seem to mind Zenyatta’s refusal, but he turned around, offering Zenyatta yet again a view he had not expected to enjoy, and when he faced him once more, he was holding a box in his hands.

To Zenyatta’s surprise, it contained his mala.

He lifted his hand, hesitated, then called them to him. They responded instantly, humming and chiming as they floated to him, circling around his body once before settling back where they belonged, around his neck.

It was such a small thing, and yet their return made Zenyatta feel whole again. He had missed their comforting weight, the sound they made while circling his body, their presence as an extension of his mind…

And now, also a valid shield to keep Akande away from his neck. It was embarrassing how quickly Akande’s lips could get him to tremble… but the thought was still too difficult to parse through.

“Do you not think it unwise, to return to your opponent their weapons?”

“You would not require such aid to be a formidable combatant,” Akande replied, crossing his arms in front of his chest, the box forgotten at his feet. Then, he grinned. “Yet, you would not make for a good opponent at this time, when you can barely walk.”

That was unfortunately true –Zenyatta could focus his attention elsewhere so not to notice the soreness of his limbs, but in a situation of combat, he would still be at disadvantage, more so since shifting made his lower body ache, deliciously, remembering the size of Akande’s cock that had been in him the previous night.

“So you say you’d let me leave, after keeping me captive for so long?” Zenyatta’s forehead array flickered in doubt. “That seems awfully… convenient, for me.”

“You will be escorted out, my monk. It might take you a while, but we will see eye to eye. In the meantime, there is no harm in playing our parts in things that have yet to come. I shall prevail, and you _will_ come willingly.”

Akande pushed forwards, and Zenyatta found himself backing away until his shoulders hit the wall. His orbs vibrated but did not move, sensing his reluctance to part with them.

“You might believe me foolish, to hold such… hope on your part, but that is not all. It can be a week, a month, a year or longer –it matters none. You exist, and I have found you. creating a chance for us to be was all I looked for. We can play a game together, though, and dance on opposite sides for as long as you insist on resisting, until you capitulate and give yourself to me.”

“You have such faith in yourself,” Zenyatta looked to the side, considering, thinking. “What makes you so sure I will not be the one to win this game of yours?”

Zenyatta missed the flicker of interest in Akande’s eyes, but he did not miss the lazy stretch of his lips. “Now, that’s an intriguing proposal. Do you think me worth redeeming, my monk?”

Zenyatta took a few seconds to consider the matter, as if he hadn’t thought the same thing over the course of the past week, extensively, in his free time. “Feel free to resist, but if you truly believe we are so similar, then you should be aware I would not allow someone like you to continue on such destructive path. It will not only burn the world, but yourself. I am not known to resign and give up.”

Akande’s laughter once again took him by surprise. It was loud, and amused, and low. Zenyatta had to wonder how it would sound if the man was relaxed and at ease, instead of posing and alert.

“I knew I’d found a match, Zenyatta, but it is amusing to me you choose to demonstrate it in such a way. Oh, feel free to try, my monk. I look forwards to our talks, stolen moments away from your team, and mine. But in the meantime, allow me…”

He lifted his hand, and moved to grab one of the mala around Zenyatta’s neck. He plucked it out, the mala dwarfed into his hand, and held it tightly, preventing Zenyatta from calling it back.

“… I will keep this.”

Zenyatta’s core whirred loudly, the remaining mala rearranging themselves around his neck to cover for the loss of one of them, and it was with little surprise that Zenyatta realised that somehow Akande had picked the one orb of Zenyatta’s own making.

Not one of Mondatta’s, but the one he had carved and built on his own.

“It is… imperfect, as you said. Yet, it holds more value to me because you were the one who made it. It has… yourself in it, with every careful, imprecise detail. So, I will have it.”

With deliberately slow motions, Akande brought the orb to his lips and kissed it, aware that Zenyatta was looking at him.

Omnic energy danced on the surface of the orb, and Zenyatta’s senses flared at the connection, as intimate of an action as it would have been if Akande had kissed him, instead.

“Oh. And another thing.”

Akande’s other hand trailed down to touch Zenyatta’s core, warm on top of it.

“I have no intentions to return to you the rags you used to wear. They are not worth of you. You may wish to decide whether you prefer to leave… like this…” a smirk “or allow me to find something more suitable.”

Zenyatta, startled at the mention of his clothes, looked past Akande’s frame, trying without avail to find his pants and sash in the room.

It was clear Akande had waited until he had been unable to protest to take them away, but the idea of his belongings being treated like disposable trash when he had been wearing them for years made his emotions spike up in annoyance.

“I do not mind walking out of here without anything to cover me. Many of my brothers and sisters choose to live without garments on them, and truly there is no shame in that.” Zenyatta shuffled to the side, removing himself from the wall, and dared to move further into the room by giving Akande his back.

He had expected protests, but the feeling of Akande’s body coming up behind him, a pair of arms tugging him flush against his chest, was not the kind he had envisioned. He could feel the curve of his stomach and muscles press against his metal plates, and his arms warm around his midsection.

“There is nothing you should feel shame about. Your body is glorious to look at, every inch of it. Yet, I do not wish to share such view with anyone, and I feel it will be enough of a payment for the mala I will choose to keep.”

“It is unwise to offer an equal exchange, when you did not give me any room to refuse.” Zenyatta remained slack in Akande’s arm, wondering why, of all people, he had decided to pour his interest on him to this extent, to the point where Zenyatta himself had trouble understanding what was an acceptable way to react, or feel.

“I will have you dressed like a king, clad in rich fabrics, yet fit to fight,” Akande rumbled against his auricular receptor. “But if you truly do not wish for that, I will not push.”

The promise in his tone was obvious to Zenyatta –Akande still believed he would win, and that Zenyatta would bend, and break– but he moved away from him, and instead walked to a nearby chair, returning with clean clothes folded neatly on his arm.

They were not the rich, obnoxious clothes Zenyatta had been afraid to see, though they also were not his simple pants and sash either, but used as he was to wearing a modicum of cover on his body, the idea of leaving Akande’s compound with nothing on himself was upsetting enough that he took the clothes and inspected them.

“You knew already I would not allow you such freedom,” he murmured, keeping his tone low when his voice box acted up.

“I come prepared for everything.”

The pants were a dark brown, with delicate patterns stitched on the hems of the legs and around the midsection, and a red sash that looked almost like his old one had been, but less weathered and mended up, the fabric still expensive to the eye and soft to the touch.

There was also a creamy vest, and Zenyatta hesitated before leaving that, finding it useless when he rarely wore such garments.

The true surprise, though, was that underneath the new bundle of clothes, Zenyatta found the cloth he kept tied around his midsection, now clean, though still as tattered and ripped as it had been before.

Why, of all garments, Akande had chosen to give him back that one… did he know what that one meant to him? if Akande had researched on him, surely he had to know that this was all that was left of Zenyatta’s Shambali attire, ruined and dirtied over years of casual wear.

Zenyatta had no ties with clothes –they were replaceable, after all– but he did have a difficult time giving up on that particular one, no matter its current state.

It was still the last tie he had left to connect him with the Shambali monks… with Mondatta.

It should not have surprised him that Akande had noticed and chose to give it back to him, considering his words… but it did.

Akande watched him as he dressed up without a word, observing him as he fixed the sash around his hips so that it would not fall and then the old fabric, letting it hang as it had before, but when Zenyatta was done, Akande moved closer and offered him the shirt as well.

For a second, Zenyatta thought about refusing it again, but the gentle pressure of fingers on his wrist, and the way Akande looked at him, dark and anticipating, had him rethink his choices –and the fact that Akande would not be allowed to take them off him yet, and would have to see him leave like that, well then. That was part of it, as well.

Zenyatta allowed Akande to put the shirt on him and button it up, fingers grazing against his core with each button done.

“This is quite the step up from your old attire. You look… ravishing.”

“Thank you.” Zenyatta could not level him with an unimpressed gaze, but he could make his tone convey that exact feeling, so he did. He did not truly care how he looked, though it felt good to have Akande complimenting him still. It made Zenyatta wonder if he was getting addicted to the words of praise, and if that made him shallow for that.

No matter, though –Zenyatta still did not quite believe Akande would let him leave, though he trusted his word, but the prospect clouded any other thought.

It was only when he was fully dressed, orbs steady around his neck, that Akande moved to also cover himself, methodically slipping into fresh clothes and fixing their creases, looking pristine and perfect.

Zenyatta watched, unable to look away, understanding the kind of allure that putting clothes on could have on someone, just as much as taking them off.

With Akande fully dressed again, impeccable, Zenyatta still had the memory of how he looked without his clothes, naked and handsome, pressed against him and pushing him down on a mattress.

“Come with me, now. I do not go back to my word. You will be allowed to leave, so I will personally escort you to the city.” Akande offered Zenyatta his arm, and when he was rebuked, Zenyatta keeping his fingers folded together in front of himself, he chuckled softly under his breath. “I made no secret of the fact that I was holding you here, but the protections around this place are secure enough, and I do not wish for you to know your exact location. You will forgive me for wanting to make sure I will not be ambushed by your… friends… once they have you back.”

“I do think that would cause some problems, yes.”

Zenyatta sighed, thinking about Genji, and how his hot-headed self had often dragged him in danger.

If Genji attacked Akande one-on-one, it would not bode well… for Genji.

“It gives me pride you recognise my superiority over your fellows. I am indeed strong, and I fear no one.”

“Fear tempers down recklessness. I feel you would indeed feel such emotion if you were to face Winston again in combat.”

Akande’s hand froze in mid-air as he hesitated, just for a fraction of a second.

“It was indeed a tremendous sight, to see such creature rush at me at full speed, but not one I wish to face anytime soon without preparation. I have grown cautious, and do not stumble into action without consideration.”

“Admirable.” Zenyatta replied drily, noting how Akande had avoided to admit to fear, and Akande laughed, loud and boisterous, and pushed the door of the room open.

“Follow me, my monk. For how pleasant it has been to have you here, it will be far more pleasant to have you return of your own volition. Soon.”

“A warrior’s greatest weapon is patience…” Zenyatta allowed a few seconds to pass by as he followed Akande out of the room, grateful to see the sight of the corridor spread in front of him signalling the end of his captivity, “yet sometimes patience will not grant you what you wish, no matter who you are.”

As Akande walked through empty corridors, Zenyatta could see the same secure grin stay in place on his lips.

“We will see, my monk. We will see.”

***

The street around him was busy, people rushing past Zenyatta as he remained immobile on the sidewalk, watching the anonymous, black car vanish past a narrow corner.

A short man bumped into Zenyatta without an apology and vanished behind him, and an omnic side-stepped around Zenyatta’s still form without a word or a glance at him.

Zenyatta waited for a few long seconds. Time stretched forwards, around him, ticking by, and more people surrounded him, filled his words with sound and noise and movement, so different from the week of isolation that he let all of it wash over him like a cleansing wave.

In the car, it had been just him and Akande, a man driving them that Zenyatta did not even see, protected by a wall between the driver’s seat and the back of the car, but it had felt like it had just been Akande and Zenyatta for the whole trip.

Before opening the door for him, Akande had tugged Zenyatta on his lap and had kissed him, hands caressing his sides until he’d pushed weakly against Akande’s chest, dizzy and overwhelmed, and even then he had only paused for a few seconds before kissing him again.

Zenyatta had welcomed him both times, fingers digging into Akande’s shirt, tugging him closer.

He had barely realised he’d been kissing him back, flicking omnic energy to caress the man’s lips, until they parted, Akande’s lips almost bruised with how much energy Zenyatta had put into his kisses.

Then he’d left, and Zenyatta had watched the car disappear in the traffic, feeling like he was missing something while also allowing himself to feel relief.

He was free now.

Yet, something had changed, and Zenyatta would have to address that change in himself at some point, soon.

A week as a captive, with Akande as his only visitor. Once, he’d called him his tormentor, and he guessed the word still applied, for he wrecked chaos in Zenyatta’s life, upsetting his balance, and then left Zenyatta to pick the pieces of himself that were left behind to make order with them once again.

Zenyatta had allowed that to happen, and had a hand in it as well.

That, too, would be something he’d need to come to terms with.

With a soft hum, he ran diagnostics over his sensors, pleased when they registered his location, communication devices and wireless also back online. The masking devices were gone. He was traceable. If Athena was looking, if OverWatch was looking, they would find him, unless he contacted them first. Asked them to come.

Did he wish to see them right away? Overwhelmed by sounds and noises and people, Zenyatta only wished for the calm of the base, without having to explain, without having to think for a bit –just the quiet of his room, and of his own mind.

Yet, that would not be possible.

Each second passing by, Akande was further away from him, where neither Zenyatta nor OverWatch could reach him.

He sent forwards a call, and prepared himself for what would come.

“… Athena? It is Zenyatta.”

 


End file.
